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Title 



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1«— 47872 



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PEDESTIN: 



% intma, 



[N FOUE ACTS. 



BY J. W^. MEATH. 



WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC., ETC. 



Sfti 



yVlEMPHis, Jenn : 

GOODWYN & CO., PUBLISHERS A\D PRINTERS, 361 MAIN STREET. 

1871. 

^ ^ ^ ffS? 



The copy-right of this play 

is secured by J. W. Meath and Charles 

Petrie, who, in junction, hold the play for the term often 

years from date of publication — then it 

recedes to the author. 



( 



PEDESTIN: 



3i irama, 



FN rOUE ACTS. 



BY J. y^. MEATH. 



WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC., ETC. 



I yVlEMPHis, Jenn.: 

■ GOODWYN & CO., PUBLISHERS AND PRINTERS, 361 MAIX STREET. 



1871. 



M 






^^X'^'' 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

Cute (the reliable.) 

Colonel Nortville. 

Joel Mertloff. 

Paris Desmer. 

Walter, Benson (alias Walter Bruce.) 

Lawyer Mason. 

Landlord of the Half- Way Inn. 

Sam Green (a sharper.) 

Officer. 

Russell. 

PEBESTIN. 

Rose Merview. 
Mrs. Desmer. 
Cxrany Swabs. 






COSTUMES. 

Of the present day. 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY. 



ACT 1. 

Scene I. — A Cotton- field. 
Scene II. — Plain Wood. 
Scene III. — A furnished apartment. 
Scene IV. — Plain Room. 
Scene Y. — A Garden. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — Same as Scene III Act L 

Scene II. — A set Cottage. 

Scene III. — Plain Chamber. 

Scene IV.— J. Street. 

Scene V. — The Cabin of the Steamboat Reindeer. 

Scene VI. — The Rapids — Steamboat on fire — Storm. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. — A set Inn {Sign Half-way.) 
Scene II. — Interior of a Log House denoting strength. 
Scene III. — Same as Scene I. Act III. 
Scene IV. — A Precipice-high rocks on both sides, a foot 
path across. Cataract in the distance. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Plain Room. 
Scene II. — A Set Cottage. 
Scene III. — A Street in the Village. 
Scene IV. — A furnished apartment. 



fed^stitt. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — A Cotton Field in open boll The negroes at 
icork picking it in bags. Large baskets also full of 
cotton at the end of each row. They sing as they 
work. The back scene must also in addition to the 
stage show a cotton-field in view., in order to have the 
desired effect. ( The cotton field must be welt up stage 
so as to allow a walk around and dance of negroes in 
front.) Cute heard singing in the distance; all join 
in the chorus. 

Enters Cute still singing, r. 

Cute. Look haur, nigs, I'segot de best news to tell 
you dat you ebber did heai'. Yous got dig day fur a 
holiday, so quit 3'our workin. Missie Patavine has 
come home from de boardin- school, and Massa Kur- 
nel is gwine to gib all you nigs dis day for frolickin' 
'count ob it. I'se so happy dat I — \_Ife dances.'] 

All the niggers. You's only gunimin', Uncle Cute. 
[ They leave work and come dow7i stage.] 

Cute. No, I isen't; for Missie Patavine is at home 
and looks so sweet and nice — de lobliest gal dat I'se 
eber seen wid dese two eyes — I'se so glad too, kase 
Massa Kurnel says I shan't do nuffin but wait on 
Missie Patavine ; so let's honor her comin' by habin' 
a good old dance. [J. general dance and walk- 
around, by all characters. Exit all singing, except Cute.] 
I'se seen Massa Paris in de woods yonder hunting, 
and I'se agwine and tell him dat Missie Patavine 
'rived home dis mornin. Won't he be glad to hear 
it, dough, kase I knows dat he lubs her. \_Exit R, 
singing.] 



PEDESTIN. 



Scene II. — Plain Woods. 



Enter Paris Desmer, with gun, game-bag, etc., and 

Cute. 

Paris. What does all this rejoicing mean, Cute? 
Something uncommon must call forth this clamor. 
Is there going to be a double marriage at the quar- 
ters, to-night? 

Cute. Someting better dan dat, Massa Paris. 

Paris. It must be something very important, 
then ! 

Cute. Oh ! 3"es, for ebery nig on de plantation is 
gwine to get dis as a holiday. 

Paris. \_Mach interested.'] What is it, Cute ? Why 
not tell me ? 

Cute. Can't you guess, Massa Paris ? 

Paris. JSTo — how can I guess it? 

Cute. Colly, I knows dat you guesses it — does your 
heart goes pit-a-pat, Massa Paris? 

Paris. No — what would make it go pit-a-pat? 

(Jute. Well, I'll tell you — but is you ready ? 

Paris. Yes, I'm ready — why don't you out with 
it? 

Cute. Well — would you beliebe dat Missie Pata- 
vine 'rived home from school dis morning. 

Paris. \_Starts.'] Pedestin at home! 

Cute. Yes, and she look so sweet, too, Massa Paris, 
dat I hardly knows her — -jus like a picture — not de 
wile gal dat sire use to be. 

Paris. . JSJ'o, I dare say not. \_Aside.~\ Time has 
marked its course in more ways than one, I fear. 
Yet, why should I countenance a doubt, when I know 
naught to the contrary. 

Cute. Ain't you glad to hear ob her return, Massa 
Paris, kase I knows you lub de gal. 

Paris. As a friend, Cute. 



PEDE8TIN. 



Cute. More dan dat. Don't you 'member how 
you used to write letters to each odder, and dat I 
used to be de mail bag to tote dem for you. 

Paris. We were both young then, Cute. 

Cute. Ole folks has de same feelins, Massa Paris, 
kase I'se been dar mysef. 

Paris. So you have had experience in love mat- 
ters, have you, Cute? 

Cute. I has dat — I'se been a possum among de 
gals, in my days. 

Paris. Did she say anything as to — 

Cute. No, Massa Paris, she didn't — de kurnel was 
dar all de time, and also dat — 

Paris. That who? 

Cute. Joel Mertloff. 

Paris. ' Joel Mertloff, did you say ? 

Cute. Yes, you knows, Massa Paris, dat I don't 
like him — 'twas him dat told Massa Kurnel about me 
totin' letters for you and Missie Patavine, and got 
me whipped. 

Paris. Yes, Cute, I do remember that — and it re- 
mains yet to be adjusted with him — I hoj^e the da^^- 
is not far distant when I will — 

Cute. And so does I, Massa Paris, for he am ebery- 
tingbut agemman, and I hope Missie Patavine won't 
hab nuffin to do wid him. 

Paris. {_Aside.^ Heaven forbid it ! what means 
his presence ere her own home has had time to bid 
her welcome ? 

Cute. \_Aside.'] I don't believe dat I ought to 
tell him, kase he'll feel so bad. I spec dat I'll hab to, . 
dough. lAloud.'] 'Twas he, Massa Paris, dat fotched 
Missie Patavine home, dey say — 

Paris. \_Bewildered.'] He brought her home — it 
cannot be — ^you are jesting, Cute. 

Cute. I wish I was, Massa Paris, but I ain't, kase 
I seen dem come in de carriage. 

Paris. Oh, deception ! can thee have so fair a de- 



8 PEDESTIN, 



ceiver to wear thy ignoble crown ? Leave me, Cute. 
Speak not of me to her. 

Cute. I'se sorry, Massa Paris, dat I told you, but 
don't tink so hard ob her, kase I knows dat its her 
fadder dat's all to blame — he is de cause ob it all — I 
knows dat de gal likes you. But I'll go, and hope to 
hab better news de next time. [Exit l.] 

Paris. Likes me — yes, may be with the same at- 
tachment that the child holds it's toys — to be cast at 
each succeeding fancy, xlnd yet, she is not wholly 
at fault, though she has consented to become the 
wife of Joel Mertloff ; for the solicitations of a par- 
ent on the affections of a devoted child are not easity 
denied. No, Pedestin, I will not accuse you of the 
willful retrogression of thy vow ; my own heart 
would feign tell me that I am yet thought of by 
thee ; I would be less worthy to charge thee with 
fault — it is I who by mislead reason have been shad- 
owing my own light with the fallacious claims of 
love. To Aiave thee link thy life with that of mine, 
in defiance of thy parental will, would be robbing 
Justice to sanctify Crime. Oh, poverty! thou art a 
sacrilegeous grave to Love. Many is the heart thou 
hast broken. Oh, Pedestin — I free thee — I bless thee. 
May heaven be my valediction ! \_Exit R.] 



Scene III. — A furnished apartment in the residence of 
Colonel JVortville. 

Enter Pedestin and Cute, r. 

Fed. Now, Cute, come tell me the truths Have 
you not really seen Paris Desmer and told him that I 
am at home. 

Cute. No, indeed, Missie Patavine, I didn't see 
him since — 

Fed. Since when ? 



PEDESTIN. 



Cute. Dat long time dat I was gwine to cle mill 
wid de grist and I met him hiintin'. 

Fed. [LooJiUKj in his eyes.'] Now, Cute, I really 
can't believe that you have not seen Paris Desmer to- 
day. Now, look me straight in the face and say you 
did not. 

Cute.. \_Looks at her.'] Dar, now, T'se not seen him. 

JPed. Cute, you don't know that I brought you a 
nice present from Baltimore. 

Cute. No, I didn't, Missie Patavine. 

Fed. O, yes, I have. \_Gets knife and pocket- book 
off the table.] 

Cute. [^Aside.] I'se a notion to tell her dat I seen 
Massa Paris. 

Fed. Now, Cute, these are yours, and here is five 
dollars for your pocket-book, so that it will not be 
empty. \_Gives them.] 

Cute. Lor' bless yo' soul, Missie Patavine, yous 
not gwine to gib me all dese tings. 

Fed. Yes, Cute, they are all for 3'ou — I hope that 
you like them. 

Cute. I does, Missie Patavine, but I'se not earned 
dem yet. You had better keep dem till I do. \_OffeTS 
tliem back.] 

Fed. No, no. Cute, they are yours — you have 
more than paid for them by your faithfulness long 



ago. 



Cute. Tankee, missie ; but long as I can do good 
for i:ny one, I'se gwine to do it for you. 

Fed", Thank you, Cute. \_Gets letter from her 
basket.] 

Cute. [Aside.] Oh, golly, [^Looking at knife.] I'se 
got jus as nice a knife now as Massa Kurnel. 

Fed. Cute, do you think that you could find Paris 
Desmer and give him this letter, without any one 
knowing anj^thing about it. 

Cute. I tinks I can. Massa Paris will be so glad 
to get it, kase I knows dat he — 



10 PEDE8TIN. 



Fed. That— what,? 

Cate. Lubs you ! i • • 

Fed. Loves me. [^Aside.'\ Heaven grant that it is 
true. '[_Aloud.'] You are jesting, Cute ? 

Cute. No, I'se not. 

Fed. How do you know it ? 

C/ate. Kase I do — and dat he's all de time wurrin' 
bout you. Oh, its easy tellin'— I'se often seed him 
go and set under de old tree dat you and him used to 
play by — and not go wid udder gals at all. 

Fed. ^Feelingly.'] And this was all for me, you 

sav. . , , 

Cute. Yes, Missie Patavine. He is so good to eb- 
ery one— not Hke dat Massa Joel Mertloff. 

Fed. lAside.l No, heaven forbid that he was. 
\ Aloud.'] Don't you like him, Cute? 

Cute. No, I dosn't. I'se got no use for him, dar 
none ob de gem men round him. 

Fed. What does Paris say of him ? 

Cute. I doesn't know. Massa Paris keeps dat to 
hisself, do I suspeck dat his 'pinion is like mine. 
Kase he couldn't tink oderwise, and tink right. 

Fed. Here, Cute, is the letter, give it to no one 
but him, I will await your return. [G-ives letter.'] 

Cute. I will, Missie 'Patavine. Pll be off in tree 
flutters ob a possum's tail, and see Massa Paris. 
[Aside.] Won't he be glad to getdis letter, do'. Oh, 
P-olly ' I feel like de ole time when I was de mail- bag 
before. \_Going, sees Col. JSfortville, and hides letter.] 

Enter Nortville, r. 

Col. Well, Cute, I am sorry to part withyou— I 
intend giving you away ; but I think you will have 
a more lenieiit master than I have been. 

Fed. Oh, father ! you would not part with poor 
old Cute, who has given you a life time's service, and 
whose fidelity has never been wanting? 



PEDESTTN. 11 



Cute, I'se berry sorry, Massa Kurnel, to leab you, 
for I isn't got many more days to lib no how. You'se 
always been a good massa to me. [^Appears sad.'] 

Col. Yes, Cute, you have been faithful, that is the 
reason I feel sorry to part with you. I now give 
you to — 

Fed. Oh, father! You won't part with him! See, 
the poor old man is already stooped with age — his 
hair is while by years of toil. 

Col. If you are not satisfied, Pedestin, I will lake 
him back again. 

Fed. Then 1 am not. 

Col. Yes, but I have not given him to you yet. 

Ped. \Belighted.'] To ??ie, dear father ! 

Col. To you, and nobody else. 

Ped. Oh, it is me then, that you intend giving 
Cute to ? 

Col. Yes — but you said that you would object 
to it. 

Ped. Ko I won't, father, when it is to me you are 
going to give him. Will I, Cute? 

trite. No, indeed, Missie Patavine, and I'se more den 
satisfied. 

Col. Well then, if you are both satisfied, I am. 
Now, Cute, you belong hereafter to Pedestin ; you 
have but to obey her, and I think that you will not 
be sorry after all for the change. 

Cute. I'se sure to do dat, massa Kurnel, and I 
won't be sorry eider. 

Ped. No, Cute, you will have no cause to regret it. 

Cute. I knows it, Missie Patavine. 

Ped. You can go now Cute and saddle my pony, 
for I intend to go riding this morning. \_Aside to him.] 
The letter, I mean. 

Cute. [To her.] Yes, I knows dat. [Aloud.] I'll 
hab de pony ready, missie. IPJxit singing^ r.] 

Ped. How am I to thank you, for all that you 
have done for me — not a wish — not a fancy that 



12 PEDESTIN. 



you have not gratified ; and now you give me a prize 
I value more than all— Uncle Cute. ^ ^They sif] 

Col Your love and obedience, Pedestin, have more 
than repaid me. 

Fed. Yes, father, and I will always be so. I have 
no one to love and obey but you. 

Col \_Aside.'] I will soon test it. lAloud.'] Pedestin, 
1 wish to speak to jon on a matter that now absorbs 
my whole attention. My only wish now is to see 
you happy and well provided for. 

Fed. i am happy, father, and wish for no other 
happiness than to live with and love you. 

Col Yes, my child, but you won't have me Avith 
you always, that is why I look forward to your mar- 
riage. 

Fed. [Much surprised.'] My marriage ? 

Col Yes, daughter. 

Fed. But I have never as yet given it a moment's 

thought. 

Col That is the reason, Pedestin, I speak of it 
now. I am getting infirm with age, and should I be 
taken away, 1 would wish to leave you to a husband's 
care, and one that would be faithful. 

Fed. You are in good health, father — not suffer- 
ing from any indisposition— and my prayer will be 
for its continuance. 

Col Bless you, my child. Pedestin, there is 
another reason that I would argue in favor of your 
early marriage. You know I am soon to leave for 
England, having been appointed arbitrator in the 
settlement of your uncle's estate. And as my stay 
may be for some months there, I would wish to see 
you married before I go. You have arrived at that 
age in which a protector, one that you can trust in 
all things, becomes indispensable. I know of none 
to whose charge I could better leave you than that 
of a husband's. You, who never had a mother's care, 
know not the anxiety, the uneasiness of mind that 



PEDESTIN. 13 



fall to a father's lot, to care for a daughter. If I am 
too persistant in my jnirpose. it is because your hap- 
piness and we'lfare are hoth involved. I have none 
but you, Pedestin; 3'ou were my early hope — now be 
the comfort of my declining years — and a father's 
blessing will be yours. 

Fed. I thought not but to please your slightest 
wish. I know of no privation, no toil — no matter 
how laborious or self denying that I am not willing 
to endure for you. But when you summon my affec- 
tion, my love for he whom I know nauglit of, I must 
deny thee. 

Col. But my daughter, you know not who I 
mean. Why si)eak so resolutely, it may be that his 
name will meet with the approval of your heart ere 
my tongue has fully told it. 

Fed. If it is your wish I vrill hear it, father. 

Col. Then, my dear Pedestin, 1 will tell you it, and 
one whose wealth and station calls forth envy from 
many. His age and appearance are both in keeping 
with his manly bearing — Joel Mertloff. 

Fed. \_Starts.'\ Joel Mertloff! Can you be serious, 
father? 

Col. Yes, I am. Why should I not; he is worthy 
ot the best lady in the country. 

Fed. Then father, I am sorry that you have en- 
couraged this in thought, for it can never be. 

Col. Never be ! but you are forgetting his integ- 
rity — his high position, and his great wealth. 

Fed. I am forgetting nothing, father, for sooner 
would I be free — and beo- in the tattered o-arbs of 
poverty, than be a slave in chains of gold ! 

Col. Then if such is your resolve, Pedestin, it 
behooves me to tell you the truth, that I would wish 
to keep from you. Know then, that I am bankrupt, 
and indebted most to him. 

Fed. \_Startled.~\ You bankrupt! 

Col. Yes daughter, I am. My estate is mort- 



14 PEDESTIN. 



gaged, and were I pushed by my creditors, I would 
not own a dollar. Joel Mertloff is my sole one. 

JPed. \_Aside.'] And it could not be to a worse one. 
[^Aloiid,'] Oh, father, -would that this could be averted, 
for your sake. I care not for myself; life is all be- 
fore me ; but 3^ou, who has been so kind a father to 
me, I will unceasingly toil — labor to support you — 
beg, were it necessary ; but ask me not to become 
the wife of Joel Mertloff. 

Col. Then you close the only means of escape 
that is left us from beggary — '^our marriage with 
him is the last and only resource. I will give you 
until to-morrow to decide, and let us not be cast upon 
the world penniless. \_CToing.'] [Aside.'] 1 think 
that will have the desired effect. \_Exitij.'] 

Ped. 'Till to-morrow to decide between ignomin- 
ious slavery and poverty. The preference is momen- 
tious for one's life. One adds reproach by silence, 
and mockery by smiles; in the other, there is hope, 
that gives cheer in the most trying moments. But 
can I see my father, worn by care, whose hair 
is whi'ened by the sorrows of time, become a beggar 
— an outcast — he that has lavished luxury and wealth 
upon me; never yet denied me aught? No, I cannot 
see him suffer — I am not ungrateful — I am his daugh- 
ter. \_Weeps.'] 

Enter Eose Merview, l. 

Hose. Why, my dear Pedestin, you have been 
crying. What in the w^orld could have affected your 
gentle heart — you look so pale, too — won't you tell 
me, dear ? [Sits.'] 

Ped. I am grieved to hear of father leaving so 
soon for England, and be absent so long. 

Rose. Why — is he going so soon as that? I 
thought he would not leave for a month yet. 

Bed. Yes, he will leave immediately. 



PEDESTIN. 15 



Rose. But why take it so much to heart, dear 
cousin ? He certainly will not be yqyj long absent — 
and besides, you have been so long awa}' from home 
that you will find much enjoyment in reviewing your 
early haunts and pass-times, that will in a great de- 
gree obviate the tediousness that would follow. Now, 
be cheerful, and imagine that he — \_Laughs.~\ jovl 
know who I mean — was looking at you. I warrant 
that 3''ou would look sweet then. Ah ! cousin. 

Fed. Those days are past, Rose, — they were life's 
happiest hours. 

Rose. Yes, and just as happy ones to come. 

Ped. [^Aside.l I hope so. 

Rose- But why don't you take pattern after me, 
cousin. For my part T would not care if all the 
young men in the country were off ballooning and 
never returned, you would not catch me studjnng 
astronomy — no indeed — I would not look at the stars 
for a month after. 

Ped. Yes, cousin, I wish I was as free from care 
as you are. Time makes no change in you — the 
same free, wild Rose. 

Rose. Yes, and I am going to be. If every one 
was like me there would be no inquests held on vic- 
tims of blighted love that are now becoming so epi- 
demic. I believe in every one loving themselves best. 
But then, if one has a superfluous quantity of it, let 
them divide it equally among their fellow creatures 
serving one and all alike. 

Ped. {^Laughing .'\ Why,|what a philanthropist you 
are becoming. Rose. 

Rose. Oh, yes. I am quite a prodigy, I assure 
you. 

Ped. Cousin, you often promised me that you 
would tell me all about that early love you had for a 
certain young man, and I have yet to learn his name, 
too. 

Rose. I will tell you now, providing you say noth- 
ing about it. 



16 PEDESTIN. 



Fed. I will readily promise that. 

Rose. I was engaged to a very nice young man at 
the early age of sixteen. He was four years older 
than myself. We were school-mates, and raised, you 
might say, beneath the same roof. His father was a 
sea captain, and on his last voyage to China died 
there. Walter, my intended, went after his father, 
and on his return home, one year after, he broke off 
the engagement, apparently without any cause at 
the time; but since, I heard that it was occasioned by 
some family troubles. His people moved from our 
town two years previous ,and I never heard definitely 
of them since, and not at all of him. He was the 
noblest of his sex — and though I have not seen him 
in four long ^ ears, 1 am still susceptible to the belief 
that I will. 

Fed. I hope that you will — but you forgot to tell 
me his name. 

Rose. Walter Benson. 

Fed. I don't remember of ev6r having heard the 
name. 

Rose. I dare say not. But did I tell jow the news 
I heard in the village. 
. Fed. ISTo— what is it ? 

Rose. Why, I heard that Paris Desmer is going to 
the gold regions. 

Fed. What gold regions? 

Rose. The gold regions in California, I suppose. 

Fed. \_8tarts.'] Oh, cousin, are you bot jesting? 
He would not leave the country without seeing me, 
when he knows that I am at home. 

Rose. How can he see you, when your father for- 
bids his entering the house? 

Fed. Oh, I must see him — 1 would have him 
know all, and not think that I ever deceived him. 

Rose. All what, cousin ? I fear you have some 
secret of no pleasing nature, that you would keep 
from me — why not confide in me? — but I will not 
press you more. 



PEDESTIN. 17 



Fed. I will tell you all some other time. I do Dot 
wish to cause you unnecessary solicitude now, for it 
would be of no avail. 

Rose. As 3"ou wish, dear cousin ; but be more 
cheerful, you are too sensitive — your kind heart is 
too open and too apt to magnify trifles, for your 
bodily comfort. But, come, let us take a walk in the 
garden, and, if I mistake not, the morning zephyrs 
will lure that ill-meaning spirit aAvay. 

Fed. I look for Cute's return from the village ev- 
ery moment — I sent him there w^ith a letter to — 

Ri ""., To Paris Dcsmer. [i>aw^/is.] O, you rogue, 
befoj m hour, you will be as happy as a lark. 

{Exit L.] 



Enter Col. Nortville and Joel Mertlofp. 

Col. Leave that to me Joel, I have already brought 
a little artifice to my aid and I think from present 
prospects that it will work admirably. 

Joel. Yes, that's it. Colonel, one ounce of strategy 
is worth a regiment of bayonets. But as long as that 
worthless skulking cur, Paris Desmer, stays in the 
neighborhood I fear that he will revert her attention. 

Col. Why, he is gone — gone to the gold regions, I 
was told to-day by those who know. 

Joel. \_Asider\ I wish it was to the devil. {Moud^ 
Gone there, ah ! 

Col. Yes, he made his farewell bow to the villagers 
last evening. I never knew that Pedestin had any 
particular liking for this fellow, but women are so 
devilish odd that there is no accounting for their 
fancy. 

Joel. They are, indeed, a pack of insolvable mys- 
teries, Colonel, every one of them. I was aware of 
Pedestin liking this Desmer; but, as love in the 
young is but a fancied idea, it can easily be fright- 
ened out. However, I will leave that to you. 



18 PEDESTIN. 



Gol. Well 3'ou may, I have things now pretty 
much as I wish them — the greatest obstacles are ^ir- 
mounted. 

Joel. Does she know of your going to England, 
Golonel ? 

Col. Yes, I so informed her, but said nothing in 
regard to the estate my Uncle left me, and I would 
warn you on that point, also. 

Joel. Ha, ha, a little more device, Colonel; there 
is nothing like it. 

Col. It takes persistance in an affair of this kind. 
I have never undertaken anything that 1 did not ac- 
complish. I have set my lieart on this marriage, and 
unless I am greatlj^ astray I will bring it to a suc- 
cessful issue. What think you, Joel ? 

Joel. I hope so. Colonel. 

Col. Joel, as much as I dote on her, and were she 
to marry any worthless fellow, hang me if would not 
disinherit her — cut her off without a dollar. It is well 
for you that I hold you in such high favor. 

Joel. Thank you, Colonel, for that. I suppose it 
is not necessary for me to make any suggestions now 
as to preparations for our nuptials. 

Col. ]^o, not now. That is like paying the fiddler 
before the dance. But what say you if you stop in 
and see her. Speak not of your marriage to her — to- 
day, at all events. 

Joel. As you wish Colonel, [cjoing'\ I will see you 
presently. \Aside.'] J^ow to feast my eyes upon her 
beauty. \_Exit l.] 

Col. What better man could she expect to get 
than he is. He is rich, young, noble looking, and 
certainly of good parentage. Hang me if I can see 
what is getting into the marriageable daughters now 
days. Their fancy is as peculiar as the fool who 
wanted to marry his own mother \_Cute opens door in 
c, and is about to come in, letter in hand, sees Colonel 
Wortville, stands at door and listens.'] Ha, ha, I 



PEDESTIN. 19 



have the best of it so far. Telling her that I was 
bankrupt will have more influence to induce her to 
marry \_Cvte puts his head inside of door.'] Joel 
Mertloff than all other stories I could coin. B}^ to- 
morrow 1 will have the gentle yes trom her — I will 
take no other answer. I am better pleased than 
a thousand dollars to hear of that scamping fel- 
low, Desmer, leaving the countr}^, [^Cute shoivs the 
audience letter'] and if he never returns until I bid him 
welcome, this locality will be free from his presence 
for a while. \_Exit r.] 

Enter Cute. 

Cute. Golly, wouldn't Massa Kurnel gib my ear 
a pullin' if he ketched me heear'n on him. Dar 
is some flicker in de wind when he talks dat way 
'bout Miss Patavine. I guess dat he's kind o' 'stakin 
if he tinks dat she's gvvine to marry Massa Mertlofl:'. 
Not as long as dis ere chile' knows hisselfj bank- 
ruckery or no bankrukery, kase I knows it as well 
as Massa Kurnel. I'se got de letter here for 
Miss Patavine, and Massa Paris is not gone yet. He 
is gwine to see her to-morrow night. \_Looks at the 
letter.] Jus de same marks dat was on dem before. 
Oh, I'll bet dat dar is lots of lub in dat letter. 'Tis 
de white folks dat can talk de lub, kase dey larn it in 
de books. [^Exit r, singing.] 



Scene 1Y. — Pkwi Boom. 
Enter Cute and Eose. 

Bose. Well, then, what is the reason. Cute, that 
the young gentlemen, as you are pleased to term 
them, don't like me ? 

Cute. I'se don't know Missie Eose, 'less 'tis — 



20 PEDE8TIN. 



Rose. Unless what, Cute ? 

Cute. Dat dey tink you talk too much, Missie 
Eose. 

Rose. Me talk too much, you rascal. [Going for 
him; Cute hacking away.'] How dare have you the 
impudence to say that I talk too much? 

Cute. No, I mean dem oder fellers, Missie Eose, 
dat said it. [Aside.] Oh, laws, I wouldn't ker about 
her mysef. 

Rose. You say that again and I will — 

Cuce. Yes, I knows you would. 

Rose. What is my tongue for but to use it ? 

Cute. Yes, I knows dat. [Aside.] You does, and 
your hands sometimes, too. 

Rose. It is of little difference whether the young 
men fancy my talking or not. You tell them so for 
me. 

Cute. [Aside.] No, I'se gwine to tell dem nothing. 
[Aloud.] 'Twas dem dat said it, Missie Eose. I 
was only tellin' it ober. 

Rose. Oh, well, if that is it, I will forgive. But, 
now, tell me what Harry Ward said about me, and 
I will give you a nice present. 

Cute. Oh, yes, dat one 3"0u didn't gib me, and was 
gwin' to gib me last Christmas. 

Rose. Yes, that one. 

Cute. I'se 'fraid dat you will forgit it as you did 
dat one, Missie Eose. 

Rose. Oh, no, you can remind me of it. Cute. 

Cute. Well, but my new rules is for work like 
dis is git paid in 'vance, den you won't forgot it. 

Rose. Pay in advance, eh? Why, Cute, you are 
realty up to the times. 

Cute. I'd rather have a dollar, if it is de same to 
you, Missie Eose. 

Rose. Why, I didn't say dimes, but then I believe 
I have a little change [takes out coppers] about me. 

Cute. [Aside.] Yes, 'tis little too. 



PEDESTIN. 21 



Rose. There, I hope that will satisfy you. 

Cute. Yes, to look at, but I can't buy nuffin wid 
dem, dey are, [looking at theiii] are — 

Rose. They are pennies, what we use East for 
change. 

Cate. Yes, I taught dat dey come from dar. 

Rose. Well, now, tell me w4iat Harry said. 

Cute. Oh, yes. Well, he said dat you war — 

Rose. What? 

Cute. \_Look off l.] Oh, here comes Massa Kur- 
nel, and I must make mysef skarce 'bout dis time. 

Rose. But, tell me, what did he say, Cute. 

Cute. \_Groing.'] Dat you was too old. [Exit r.] 

Rose. I, too old. Well, what contemptible, un- 
principled bigots men are — big and little, old and 
young — to call me old, and I have not seen my twen- 
ty-first year yet — 

Enters Col. Nortville, l. 

they are all a chip of the one block. 

Col. Good morning, Cousin Eose. What is it that 
now disturbs the tranquility of your peacable mind. 
Some new breakers, eh ? 

Rose. Breakers, yes. You men are a clOg to every 
woman's happiness. 

Col. Me ? 

Rose. No, not you, now, Uncle. You have passed 
that age. You were once a man. 

Col. [Aside.'] Hang me if that ain't complimen- 
tary — I was " once a man " — [Aloud.'] And what am 
I now. Cousin Eose ? 

Rose. [Coaxingly.] A nice, quiet, old gentleman, 
Uncle. 

Col. [Aside.] That's an improvement, but still not 
exactly the thing. [Aloud.] I am not so very old, 
Cousin Eose. 

Rose. No, Uncle, you are not quite eighty, I be- 
lieve. 



22 PEDESTIN. 



Col. Eighty! Why, bless you, I have not seen 
fifty yet. I was just twenty years old when you 
were born. I remember the night well. So that 
brings you close on to thirty. 

Hose- Uncle, what an unfeeling wretch you are. 
Me thirty. Not for nine years yet. \_(TOing^ and 
stands on Ms toes.l I will be even with you yet for — 

Col. Oh ! my toes, my toes — 

Rose. Don't wear such tight boots, uncle. \_Exit r.] 

Col. I had better wear iron ones when your cor- 
poration feet are around. Whoever has the fortune 
of getting her will get a tartar. Her small fortune 
is un sufficient to keep up and I am the sufferer. 
Now, for Pedestin and her yes. It must be seriously 
comtemplated by her, for she has not left her room 
to-day. 

Enter Joel Mertloff, l. 

Joel. Good- evening, colonel, I come for your com- 
pany in that drive you promised to take with me 
this evening. 

Col. Oh, yes, I'd quite forgotten it, Joel. 

Joel. How is Miss Pedestin — anything demon- 
strative ? ' 

Col. No — not as yet. Eeally, I have not seen her 
to-day — she has kept her room. 

Joel. She is inclined to be self-willed, colonel! 

Col. Not to control her. I was on the point of 
calling on her when you came in. If you will spare 
me for a few moments, I will see her. \_Exit both, l.] 

Enter Pedestin, r., looking pale. 

Fed. The hour is already at hand when I ^am to 
give my father an answer. May heaven direct me 
in giving it ; I cannot see my good father, now in 
his declining years, deprived of a home — cast upon 



PEDESTIN. 23 



the charity of a merciless world. Yet — death is 
]-)referable — than to be the wife of Joel Mertloif. 

Enter Cute, l. 

Cute. Missie Patavine, joii has been crj^ing — I 
hope dat you isn't sick. 

Fed. Cute, I have good cause to shed tears. 

C\ite. Can't I do nuffin for you, Missie Patavine? 
Is dar been any one saying something to you ? 

Fed. No, Cute — not that, but far worse. I will 
tell 3^ou, for I know I can trust you. 

Cide. Yes, missie, you can dat — for I'll neber de- 
seebe, dough I is a poor ole nigger. 

Fed. You are faithful. My ftither wants me to 
marry Joel Mertloff, for, in so- doing, I will save him 
from bankruptcy — beggary — for he is now on the 
verge of both. 

Cute. I tells you, Missie Patavine, don't marry 
him, kase I know^s better dan dat — 'tis all smoke, 
kase I knows it — don't marry him, 'twould wurry 
poor Massa Paris. \_Much moved.'] 

Fed. What do you mean by your knowing better? 

Cute. I'se heard Massa Kurnel talking to hissef — 
don't marry him, Missie Patavine, kase dar is no 
bankruckery at all. 

Fed. No — bankruptcy ! 

Cute. No, dar isn't. 

Fed. 1 believe 3^ou, Cute, your honesty is expres- 
sive in every word. O, heaven, I thank thee for my 
deliverance — I now comprehend all — my eyes are 
open to the deception that would have deprived me 
of life and liberty. Still more galling is the thought 
that my own father would be the extortioner. \_Ste'ps 
heard, coming.'] Here comes my father — leave. Cute, I 
would not have him see you here now. 

Cute. I'se gwine, Missie Patavine, but don't marry 
him, kase dar is no bankruckery at all. \_Exit, r.] 



24 PEDESTIN. 



Enter Colonel Nortville, l. 

Col. My dear da"ghter, I was becoming uneasy 
at your absence, all day. I hope you are not 
unwell. 

Fed. No, father, not that. 

Col. Ah ! I see you think that your non-appear- 
ance is in keeping with the sad news of yesterday. 
You are right, daughter, it is. 

Ped. Yes, father, such was my motive. 

Col. I hope, Pedestin, that you have fully decided. 

Fed. I have. 

Col. To marry him, of course. 

Fed. Who ? 

Col. Joel Mertloff— who else ? 

Fed. Father — Joel Mertloff, I can not and — will 
not marry. 

Col. [Surprised. '\ What, daughter, not to save 
your father from ruin and disgrace. 

Fed. Father, I will do anj^thing that a child can 
do to save a parent. 1 will deny myself — toil — 
drudge — beg — for you ; but to marry Joel Mertloff, 
before heaven, do I attest that I never will ! 

Col. Listen, Pedestin, you have had your choice, 
and this is your decision. JS^ow. I will have mine 
and I will act accordingly. Not a dollar of mine 
will you receive until you consent to marry Joel 
Mertloff, and should that not be before my death, I 
will disinherit you, you disobedient, ungrateful hussy. 
This is your thanks for all I have done for you. 
Mark me — ^you shall be the sufferer. [Exit, r. Fe- 
destin weeps.'] 

Fed. It is all passed now, and I trust to heaven 
that it is for the better. His own words tell me that 
it was a snare to jrob me of what earth cannot re- 
store — its wealth can never buy my love and my 
honor— for, to become the wife of Joel Mertloff, 
would be a stigma on both. [Exit, l.] 



PEDESTIN. ^ 25 

Scene IV. — A Garden; moon seeji through the trees. 

Enter Paris Desmer, l. 

Paris. Her letter says that she would meet me 
here at nine, \_Looks at his wmtch.~\ it wants but five 
minutes of the time. Why does she ask this meet- 
ing, when every tongue proclaim the da}^ of her 
marriage with another? There can be but one alter- 
native — the dreams of youth are no longer sug- 
gestive of reality. It would be madness to per- 
sist in them longer — baseness in me, to link her with 
my poverty — no ! no ! the thought is too preproster- 
ous. It would be plucking the rose, bathed in bloom, 
to be witness of its death. 

Enter Pedestin, r. 

Peel. Oh, Paris, jow are here — thank you for this. 
\_She rushes into his arms.'] 

Paris. I came at your request, dear Pedestin. 

Ped. Oh, dear Paris, forgive me if I have acted 
wrong in bringing j'ou here; but I could not help it 
— I heard that you were about to leave the country. 
I could not suffer you to go Avithout first seemg you. 

Faris. Why should I stay? — poverty is all that 
seem to greet me here — our vows of love have long 
since ceased — they were but the idle dreams of our 
young hearts — wanting better judgment, for we were 
both, then, in child-like innocence. But that is all now 
passed — we have grown in years, and should exercise 
more considerate discrimination ; in the future, let 
our motives be governed by reason, for our paths in 
life will be far apart. It is the same love that en- 
tered my heart for you when a boy that now counsels 
this ; it has grown too deep — too holy — too infinite — 
to have you linked with my misfortune — I alone can 



26 PEDESTIN. 



suffer my privations — but to have you share them — 
no — never ! 

Fed. \_Aside.'\ You are too noble. 

Paris. But let me hope that in your new condi- 
tion you will become happy — reconciled to heaven's 
will. 

Fed. \_8tarts.'] "What means that new condition 
you speak of? 

Paris. Is it not on every tongue that is able to 
speak your name ? 

Ped. I can not understand you, Paris. 

Paris. Would you be married — and yet — not 
know it — when the rumor is afloat that you soon 
will — 

Ped. Me — no — 'tis impossible — that rumor is 
false — to whom does it say ? 

Paris. To Joel Mertloif. 

Ped. It is a falsehood — a malicious and unmiti- 
gated falsehood! Never have I, in word or act, 
given encouragement to his suit — and I will afiirm — 
that I never will. It is true he accompanied me 
home from school, but that was the express wish of 
my father, and I could not reasonably object to it. 
Paris, think not for an instant that my love for you 
has undergone any change, for it has not — I would 
have you know me as I am. Could you but read my 
lacerated heart, it would reveal you all. What think 
you, when a father would become identical with a 
scheme to rob his own child of heaven's holiest gift ; 
to destroy that love it gave as a blessing, to be free, 
holy and un defiled ; to cast an odium upon it — be- 
come instrumental in the annihilation of its sanctity? 

Paris. Is it possible that you accuse your father 
of this? 

Ped. Such is my fear that he is so disposed. 
Blame me not if I lose faith in all, when he whose 
blood runs in my veins would barter his own child. 

Paris. Be more hopeful, Pedestin : the future will 
yet bestow on you the brightest hues of its glory. 



PEDESTIN. 27 



Ped. I have one hope left me still, and that is 
you, Paris. Do not turn away from me — I would be 
with you — beggar — outcast — all that jon might be. 
\_Falls ill his arms weeping.'] 

Paris. This must not — cannot be — my strength 
is failing me. Pedestin, my angel, my love, [Kisses 
her.'] may heaven care thee until we meet there. 
IGoijig.] 

Ped. Oh ! Paris, lover, you will not leave me — 

Paris. No, my heart ever remains with you. 

[Exit L.] 

Ped. Paris — lover — [Starts after him.] you will 
not leave me. Oh ! God, he is gone — he is gone, 
and life is worthless without him. [Sinks weeping. 
Quick fall of curtain.] 

END OF ACT I, 



ACT 11. 

Scene I. — Same as Scene III, Act I. Pedestin seated 
at table, reading ; Rose drawing. 

Ped. [Putting dow7i paper.] I cannot read ; my 
sight wanders over its pages and discerns nothing. 
I fear I will never see him again. 

Rose. Cousin, I would exhort you to hope more. 
The vexatious taunts that every bereaved heart is heir 
to should not be indulged in. Be more inflexible, 
then, I'll warrant you more happiness. 

Ped. [Aside.] Advice is easier given than taken. 
[Aloud.] It is now two months, and yet no tidings 
come from him. He may be dead ! 



28 PEDESTIN. 

Rose. Dead? ISTo — why — if you keep in that way 
you will soon become an anatomist of mortality. 

Fed. Even his mother does not hear from him, 
which is more strange, and she is too, apprehensive of 
his safety. 

Rose. There is uncle, who has been absent almost 
as long, and he has written but once — and that was 
not to us. 

Red. Father was in poor health when he wrote: 
that may have prevented him from writing since. 

Rose. And, if Paris went to the gold regions, as 
the report said, he would not be apt to write until he 
got there — and that will take him some months ; for, 
in that part of Uncle Sam's dominion, they don't 
travel by lightning express trains — no — indeed. 

Red. I did not think of that, cousin. 

Rose. As to uncle not writing, that is quite easily 
solved. You know he was much displeased on ac- 
count of your refusal to marry that obtrusive jack-a- 
napes, Joel Mertloff, Esq. 

Red I didn't think he would remember that when 
abroad. 

Rose. Men will remember anything. For my 
part, I have but little faith in any of the amiable 
creatures. There is not one of them that has not as 
many faces as a dodecagon, and a color for each, l^o 
man can be trusted until he is a father — that is a 
grandfather — and then some of them are not reliable. 

Red. I hope, dear cousin, you don't class all men 
alike. 

Rose. Oh, no — once in a while you will meet one, 
whose insipidness is a passport to morality. 

Red. You are too severe, cousin. I do wish Oute 
would return — I sent him to the village for the mail. 

Enter Cute, r. 

Gute. Missie Patavine, I'se been to de village and 



PEDESTIN. 29 



dar ain't no letters dar. De letter man looked in all 
de holes and coiildn't find one for you. I met Massa 
Mertloif comin' dis way, I speck dat he am comin' 
hyar. 

Fed. Joel Mertloff coming here again ? 

Hose. I suppose to show us his pugnacious coun- 
tenance, which is equal to a dose of physic. 

Cute. Missie Patavine, I'se agwine to stay close 
by, and if he say anyting dat's gruby, I'll club him 
like I would a snake. 

Hose. And with your permission, cousin, I will 
withdraw for a few moments. [_Exit L.] 

Cute. I hears him comin', so I'll stow^ mysef way 
hyar. [Jlides back of wing l.] 

Fed. There is no alternative for me but to see 
him. I would avoid the meeting, though I fear him 
not. 

Enter Joel Mertloff, r. 

Joel. Ah! Miss Nortville, this is an unlooked-for 
pleasure. May I indulge in the belief that I do not 
intrude? 

Fed. Mr. Mertloif, I am not disposed to deny any 
one who desires an interview, much less a friend of 
m}' father. 

Joel. Thank you for the honor. Miss Nortville. 
[^Aside.l That is the reason you tolerate me, I sup- 
pose. \_Aloud.'] Have you heard of late from jowv 
father ? 

Fed. ISTo sir — not for some weeks. 

Joel. You are aware that that he was in very poor 
health on his arrival in London. 

Fed. Yes — it was from there he wrote. 

Joel. \_Aside.'] 'Tis well you know no more. [_Aloud.'] 
Miss Nortville, I cannot forbear the temptation of 
broaching to you again the subject of our last inter- 
view. I fear that I was too imperious at the time ; 
now, with your permission, I would exonerate myself 



30 PEDESTIN. 



Fed. That, sir, is as you wish it. 

Joel. I would wish you to believe that it never 
was my intention to be instrumental in the restrain- 
ment of your better feelings, for, I believe not in the 
repression of one's choice. Love should never be- 
come a sacrifice on the altar of hymen. I must con- 
fess that I was — and I am as yet — zealous in the 
marriage your father was so anxious to bring about ; 
I hoped to win your affections, your love, which I 
prize above all, and until I do, I would lay no claim 
to your hand; for, it would be but to smite ray own 
conscience. Let me hope that the change will come, 
if it has not ah^eadv, and the loni>:-cherished attach- 
ment I have ever entertained for you will be the re- 
alization of my fond hopes. \_Advances to her.'] Here 
let me pledge you my sincerity, my love, and seal it 
with a — \_Tnes to kiss her.'] 

Fed. Back, ruffian! \_They tussle.] Help — help: 
l^Gute appears from behind, scene — dashes Mertloff off — 
catches Pedestin, who has fainted, and sits her in chair.] 

Cute. How dare joi\ lay your flippers on dis lady ! 
You is no man — no gemman — to do it. I'll grub you 
like a puppy, if you dare tink ob dat again. 

Joel. You black, infernal imp — how dare you in- 
terrupt a gentleman ! I'll punish your impudence 
as it deserves. \_I)raws a pistol, is about to fire at Cute, 
Pedestiri recovers.] 

Fed. Oh ! don't shoot him, I pray you — he is not 
to blame — spare his life for my sake! 

Cute. Don't be skeer, Missie Patavine, kase dar is 
no danger — he's not courage to shoot — I'se not 
'larmed ob his pistol. 

Joel. For your sake, I will spare his life. [Aside.] 
For it is not worth taking. [Aloud.] Miss Nortville, I 
wish you a good day, and I hope this will not be 
thought of seriously. [Going.] [Aside.] Before heaven, 
I swear that you will yet be my wife, or feel the 
weight of n.y ven<ycance. [FJxit R.] 



PEDESTTN. 31 



Cute. I hopes dat you is not hurt any, is you? 

Ped. No, Cute, not at all. I am thankful for 
your aid — you will be better rewarded hereafter. 

Cute. Dat's nuffin, Missie Patavine, I'we only glad 
dat I was dar. 

Fed. I could not believe he possessed a heart so 
vicious, so basely inclined. \_Exit l.] 

Cute, I knew dat a long time ago. He has de black- 
est heart for a white-face man dat I eber seen. I'd 
jus like to cook his goose for 'bout five minits, and he 
wouldn't keer 'bout skeerin' any more ladies for one 
monf. \_Exit r.] 

Enter Lawyer Mason and Eose. 

Mason. Miss Merview, I would wish you to break 
the new^s to her, and as gently as possible. Her 
father died in London, on the 14th — three weeks to- 
morrow. His will, 1 must say, seems to be a little 
misty to me, and no less astonishing. His wealth, 
too, has been greatly increased by the large estate he 
became heir to, through the death of his uncle. 

Bose. \_Anxiously .'] Does not the will give Cousin 
Pedestin his entire wealth, Mr. Mason ? 

Mason. Under certain stipulations, it does. 

Rose. Stipulations ! I don't exactly understand 
that term. Stipulations — in a will? 

Mason. They are these : She becomes heir to her 
father's wealth — first, if his son George, who was 
stolen by some unknown parties, when an infant, is 
never recovered; and secondly, if she consents to be- 
come the W'ife of Mr. Joel Mertloff. 

Rose. That she never will be, not for the wealth 
of the Eothchilds. 

Mason. Then she is cut oif with a small home- 
stead, the will giving his nephews, Charles, Augustus, 
Herbert and S})encer Kimbell, a fortune of a million, 
and ten thousand dollars to a sister, living in Canada. 



32 PEDESTIN. 

Hose. Yes, Aunt Martha. 

Mason. I will call again in a few days, Miss Mer- 
view, and, in the mean time break the news to your 
cousin. Give her my sympathy and condolence. I 
would wish her to give this due consideration before 
I take any jfinal action. \^Exit r.] 

Rose. Well, if that ain't enough to put an}^ one in 
a perfect commotion, to hear of an unfeeling old ren- 
egade father leaving his own child almost penniless, 
because she would not marry one of the most con- 
sumate scamps that ever escaped the gallows. Only 
another illustration of the noble qualites that pro- 
fusely augments masculine gender. Oh, man, your 
sins are more numerous than the blades of grass — 
a deluge of tears would not wipe them out. [Exit l.] 

Scene II. — A set cottage, door, r flat. 

Enter Cute, l, with a letter. 

Cute. Missie Patavine send me down hyar wid a 
letter to Missus Desmer, Massa Paris' moder. I hope 
dat sh's to home, for dis 'bout bery 'portant business, 
I'm sure, and sometin' 'boat Massa Paris, too. De 
ole' lady, 1 spec, is snoosin', kase I sees no smoke in 
de chimney. [Knocks at door.'] Missus Desmer, I 
hears her movin', she's home. 

Enter Mrs. Desmer, from cottage. 

Mrs. D. Oh, it's you, Cute, and the last one I was 
looking for to-day. 

Cute. Yes, Missus Desmer, I likes alway to come 
and see you, when I hab good news to tell you. 

Mrs. D. You have good news to tell me, then. 
What is it, cute ? 

Cute. Missie Patavine would like for you to come 
ober and see her, We's gwine norf in a few days, 



PEDESTIN. 



33 



and she wants to see you 'fore we goes. Hyar is a let- 
ter dat she gab me for you. 'Twill tell you all 'bout 
Massa Kurnel dyin', and ebery ing. [Gives letter.'] 

Mrs. D. It is true, then, that he is dead. [Opens 
letter and looks over it.] 

Cute. Yes, and I tinks dat he's gone to no good 
place, needer. 

Mrs. D. Well, Cute, you can tell Miss Pedestin 
that I will be happy to comply with her request. 

Cute. Yes, I will. Missus Desmer. [Exit l, 
singing.] 

Mrs. D. Poor child. She inquires particularly 
after Paris, and hopes that his silence is not occas- 
ioned by any accident. She loves him, and he idol- 
izes her. May heaven grant that their devoted hearts 
will be yet united. She little dreams of the mystery 
that caused her to be raised Pedestin Nortville in- 
stead of Angeline Desmer. Oh, thank God that the 
time may soon come that she will know her mother. 
I have 3^et Mrs. Nortville's dying confession of the 
death of her infant daughter, and the particulars at- 
tending the same. Kow, as he, wdiose implacable ob- 
stinacy would ever rule all, has passed away, I look 
with joy to the hour that Paris will, by his own 
right, become the lawful heir. [Exit door.] 

Enter Walter Bruce, l. 

Bruce. [Looks at the cottage.] 1 believe that this 
is the cottage of Paris Desmer. I would see his 
mother were she at home — at all events 1 will knock 
and see — for the life of him whom she loves with the 
tender affection of a mother's heart — depends on me 
seeing her. Joel Mertloff, in his thirst for blood, 
now hankers for the life of her son. It is but a few 
moments ago that I parted with him. He was then 
coming here to ask the poor mother of her son's 
whereabouts, that he might follow him up with his 



34 PEDESTIN. 



murderous intent and take his life, for what he de- 
nominates vengance. But I will foil you here, Mert- 
loff, and will until I see you swinging from the gal- 
lows. {^Knocks at the door.'] Ho, Mrs. Desmer. 

Re-enter Mrs. Desmer. 

Mrs. JD. Was it you that called, sir? 

Bruce. Yes, madam, it w^as. I have a few words 
I wish to say to you. They are of the utmost im- 
portance, for the life ot him you hold as dear as your 
own, depends on them. 

Mrs. D. \_Excitedly .] Speak, sir, I pray you, is he 
— I mean my son, Paris — in danger? 

Bruce. No, madam, not yet, but will be unless 
you'll be advised. 

Mrs. D. Proceed, sir, I will hear. 

Bruce. There is a certain person who has con- 
spired against his life, and will, perhaps to-day, make 
inquiry of you as to his whereabout. Make him 
none the wiser of 3^our knowledge. 

Mrs. jD. Oh, heaven. Who could harbor malice 
against he who never said aught to any one? 

Bruce. One who would do so against a saint. 

Mrs. D. Such he must be. 

Bruce. Madam, I have told you this much at my 
own risk. Should suspicion arise — 

Mrs. D. I will show my thanks for your merited 
kindness by keeping suspicion down. 

Bruce. Then 3-our son's life will be saved, and his 
would-be-assassin baffled, madam. Good day. I 
know not how soon you may have another visitor. 
lExit L.] 

Mrs. I). And I will go in -doors and not come out, 
no matter who calls. IGoing.'] Oh, thank heaven 
that Paris is in no danger. {^Exit door.'] 



PEDESTIN. 35 

Scene III. — Same as Scene /, Act II. 
Enter Mr. Mason and Pedestin. 

Mason. It does not meet with my approval, Miss 
Nortville, and knowing your father so well, it sur- 
prises me more. I am powerless to act only as the 
Avill stipulates. Yet, I will favor you all I possibly 
can, for I am sensible of its injustice. 

Ped. Thank you, Mr. Mason. 

Mason. You have no knowledge of the facts con- 
nected with your brother's abduction ? 

Ped. No, sir, only what I heard others say. 

Mason. I do not quite understand how it occurred. 
It was prior to my acquaintance with your family. 
You and your brother w^ere of the same age, I be- 
lieve. 

Ped. Yet, sir, we were born twins. He was but 
six months old when he was stolen, and, as many sup- 
posed, by some wandering gipsies, that infested the 
neighborhood at the time. Father made vigilant 
search for him, and offered large rew^ards, but all to 
no purpose. One year after my mother died, broken 
hearted, on account of it. 

Mason. It is, indeed, sad enough. 

Ped. The loss of my brother made father, at times, 
surly toward me. I often heard him say that he 
wished I were taken instead of him. 

Mason. [Moved.'] No doubt that it did. I will 
take no action for the present. Miss Nortville. The 
means you require to make this intended tour North, 
5^ou speak of, I will place in the bank, subject to 
your order, and should you determine otherwise than 
the present, apprise me of it. 

Ped. No, Mr. Mason, my mind is resolute. To be- 
come the wife of Joel Mertloff I never will. I spurn 
the thought as I w^ould a viper. 

Mason. [Aside.] Neither do I blame you. [Aloud.] 



36 PEDESTIN. 



I hope that it is all for the best, Miss Nortville. 1 
will bid you good- day. 

Peel. Good-day, Mr. Mason. I am thankful for 
your kindness. \_Exit Mason, r.] 

Enter Eose l. 

^056. Dear Pedestin, do you really intend taking 
this trip North immediately ? 

Fed. Yes, cousin, I do. 

Rose. So unexpectedly. Why not wait a few days. 
What is the object of going so soon ? 

.Ped. Can't you guess, cousin ? 

.Eose. I have been trying to, but I am as much in 
the dark as ever. 

Ped. Oh, cousin. If you possessed my heart for 
one minute it would tell you with a thousand tongues. 

Rose. '[Thoiightfidly.~\ Your heart — oh, yes, 1 have 
it now. Why, noble cousin, you are a worthy sym- 
bol of woman's sincerity — would risk all — would sac- 
I'ifice all — for the one you love. 

Ped. You do not blame me, then, for going. Rose. 

Rose. Blame you? — no — I will go with you and 
help 3' on to find him. 

Ped. Thank 3n)u, dear cousin, 1 wished your com- 
pany, but I was afraid to ask it. 

Rose. N'ow 3'ou have it without asking. I will 
go and make the necessary arrangements. [^Exit, R.] 

Enter Cute, in haste, l., with a band- box tied oy a rope. 

Cute. I'se got all de trunks packed and de band- 
boxes, Missie Patavine, I'se gwine to take dis ere 
one 'long to tote my tings in ; I'sen't got so many, so 
dat dis will do. [Sits it on stage and unties rope.'] I 
speck dat I can take Massa Kurnel's coat dat is 
hangin' up in de garret. \_Oyens band-box, takes out 
stocking, shirt, vest, collars, and a large pistol.'] I'se 



l»EDESTIN. 37 



gwine to take dis 'long to cook Massa Mertloff's 
goose, if I sees him ap dar. \_Shows audience pistol.^ 
You sees I'se takin' 'long jus what I needs on de 
road. 

Fed. \_Laughing .'] You have a great idea of trav- 
eling, Cute. 

Cute. Yes, I hab dat — I'se been dar 'fore now. Is 
we gwine to all de big towns up dar, whar all de bad 
people lib and de rogues, too? 

Fed. Yes, Cute, we will visit them all. 

Cute. And Chicago, too? 

Ped. Yes, we take it in. 

Cute. I'se 'fraid dat it will take us in. I'se gwine 
to keep mighty shy ob dat place. 

Ped. Leave that band- box here, I'll give you a 
valise to put your clothes in — and that coat you 
speak of. for 3"ou will have a traveling suit. 

Cute. Thankee, Missie Patavine. \_Aside.'] Oh, 
goU}^, I'se gwine to be no common nig, I tells you. 

Ped. Put everything in readiness, we will leave 
to-morrow evening. 



Cute. Is we going by de cars or b}^ de boats, Mis- 
sie Patavine? 

Ped. By both, Cute. 

Cute. \_Aside.'] I won't sleep to-night from tinkin' 
ob de good time I'se gwine to hab. 

\_Exit loith hand-box, singing, l.] 

Ped. I have yet to see Mrs. Desmer — she sends 
me a note, so blotted that I can hardly read it, say- 
ing that her poor health will prevent her from call- 
ing to-da}^ but will to-morrow. She further adds 
that Paris parting from me was like parting his life; 
but rather than have me share his distress, he would 
see me another's. 

Re-enter Cute, with a cane and a stove-pipe hat. 

Cute. Missie Patavine, has you any objection if I 



38 PEDESTIN. 



takes dis 'ere walking-stick and dis hat ob Massa 
'long? I speck dat I'll hab use for dem, too. 

Fed. [^Laughing.'] No, Cute, take them if you 
wish. [_Exit. L.] 

Cute. \_Puts on hat., walks across stage, takes pistol 
from pocket.'] I'se all right now for de road, for I'se 
gwine to cook Massa Mertloff's goose, if I eber sees 
him up dar. [^Exit l.] 



Scene IY. — A Street. 
Enter Joel Mertloff and Walter Bruce, l. 

Joel. You are becoming as whimsical as a grand- 
mother of eighty. You have but one time to die, 
and what's the odds whether it is this year or next, 
as long as you don't die with a hemp neck- tie fur- 
nished at the expense of the State. 

Bruce. So, you wouldn't wish then to die in that 
improved style, Joel. 

Joel. No, no ; any other death in preference to 
an elevated one — my neck was never intended to 
stretch hemp. 

Bruce. \_Aside.'] Time will tell. 

Joel. A man who dies on the gollows, Bruce, not 
only disiTaces his own name, but that of every one 
bearing it. Enough of this — now to business. 

Bruce. Proceed, I am all ears. 

Joel. The parties of whom I speak are coming 
here to take passage up the river, I don't know how 
high up ; but it matters little, for we must trap them 
in the first convenient place. This miss is verj' rich, 
her father leaving her his entire wealth, provided she 
marries me — and that, she has seen fit to kick 
against. This scamping fellow, Paris Desmer, that I 
spoke to you about, she is in love with, and from 
what 1 hear, is making this trip north in hope of 



PEDESTIN. 39 



finding him. She is also accompanied by her cousin, 
Rose Merview, and a servant — 

Bruce. [^Staris.'] Eose Merview — 

Joel. Wh}^, do you know her? 

■Bruce. Know^ her? No. You might as well ask 
me if I knew Proserpina. 

Joel. So, if v*^e have good success in trapping this 
miss — we will spare this Desmer his life — I will give 
you five hundred dollars down and one thousand 
when the job is completed. What say you to the 
terms? 

Bruce. The terms are right enough ; but the idea 
of risking one's life on t..e deck of a burning steam- 
boat is not so pleasant to reflect on. 

Joel. \_Aside.'] No — not so long as I foot up your 
bills, and give you an odd thousand. \_Aloud.'] What 
do we care for the lives of others as long as we run 
no risk? My plans are to fire the boat in a lonesome 
part of the river, and with the assistance of another, 
we can with ease abduct her. Here is five hund- 
red to bind the bargain. \_Gives money.'] 

Bruce. I agree — but how am I to get the back 
thousand, if you go down with the boat ? 

Joel. I will take good care that this don't occur. 
The boat that the}^ are going on is the Reindeer, and 
she is advertised to leave at five. Look you to the 
securing of berths, I will manage the rest. Meet me 
at the hotel at three, and be alive to the importance 
of the hour. Remember I am to be disguised — and 



my name is Howard. {^Exit l.] 

Bruce. All right, Mr. Howard. \_Looldng after Mm.] 
There goes a man — no — not a man, but a fiend. Hell 
ceases to be wicked when compared to his heart. 
For three years have I been his constant companion — 
I laugh, I chat, I resort with him, and yet I could 
drain his heart's blood drop by drop to fill the depth 
of my vengeance. But the time has not yet come — 
one more link to complete the chain of my evidence. 



40 PEDE8TIN. 



Five years ago, I had a mother and a sister, the later 
was then scarce eighteen and as beautiful as the eyes 
of mortals ever looked upon, my father was a sea- 
captain, and on his last voyage to China, he died 
there. On learning of his death, I went there — but, 
that was a fatal hour, for, on my return, one year 
after, it was to find my mother on her dying- bed 
heart-broken. It was then and there I heard of my 
sister's fate: decoyed — ruined — and murdered by 
him. I swore by her dying-bed I would avenge 
my sister's death — and — 1 will. [Going, meets Faris 
Desmer.'] 

Enter Paris Desmer, r., looking sad. 

Why, what's the matter, my friend? you look sick. 

Paris. Sick — j-es I am — of a heartless and indiffer- 
ent world that has no eyes Lo mercy, no ears to en- 
treaty — when men's hearts are bo ight and sold by 
the paltry dollar that passes as current change. 

Bruce. Avq you a stranger here? 

Paris. Yes sir. I came here some weeks ago on my 
way west. I had means to take me to my destination ; 
but, I became a victim of some petty thief, who made 
his heart rejoice over my last dollar. 1 then sought 
employment — I walked these streets day and night, 
in search of- some, but none could I get. Their ])lea 
w^as, you are a stranger, we don't know you. In the 
same city that numbers its churches by the score, 
and where charity is preached from every pulpit, 
you could starve on the marble- steps of these God- 
like temples, before any one would offer you aid. 

Bruce. [Much moved.'] Yes, I believe you; but 
don't get discouraged, all will come right. You are 
young and robust, keep an honest heart within your 
breast, and you will soon become, no matter what 
locality you settle in, a rich and respected man. Life 
is all before you, look to the future, regardless of the 
past. 



PEDESTIN. 41 



Paris. Thank you, sir, for your counsel, I hope to 
profit by it. \_Going.'\ 

Bruce. Hold, friend, I will give you a letter to one 
who may be able to give you employment. \^Puts 
money into an envelope — writes a short note.'] Lose no 
time in presenting it. I wish you success. 

Paris. How am I to repay this kindness ? 

Bruce. By being true to j^ourself. 

Paris. This act alone would induce me to be. 

lExit R.] 

Bruce. Thank heaven that I am able to relieve his 
misfortunes. When last I saw him he was but a boy. 
His face still wears that nobleness of soul it did then. 
[^Looking off r.J Ah, here, he returns, I must be off. 
The letter had no address, I intended it for him. 

\_Exit L.] 
Be- enter Paris Desmer, in haste, 

Paris. This letter is addressed to no one. Ah, he 
is gone. What means this — a trick, may be. No, he 
could not certainly have intended to deceive me, his 
solemn tone and good advice did not indicate it. It 
contains something, I will open it. May be the ad- 
dress is on the inside. \_Opens letter ; takes out ynoney 
arid note. ~\ What! money — bank notes— there must 
must be some mistake here, certainly. Ah, here is a 
note, it may explain all. [^Beads.'] "Enclosed find 
two hundred dollars — it is for your use — and should 
we meet hereafter, recognize me not, much depends 
on your discretion. A friend." This I do not under- 
stand — some mystery, I know, not far off — "recog- 
nize me not if we meet again " — who can he be? I 
have a faint recollection of seeing him before — but 
where, I know not. I will be governed by his coun- 
sel — his friendship he has proved. The world is not 
so blank, after all, as I thought it to be. In my mis- 
ery I forget thee not, my mother — nor thee, Pedes- 
tin — thy last words ere unceasingly echoed in my 



42 PEDESTIN. 



ears, every breeze seems the bearer. It was a terri- 
ble struggle, between duty and love, to part from you. 
Another such, my heart could not withstand, death 
itself would be a relief But better now as it is in time, 
you will be content and happy. That thought alone 
will be a source of joy to me. ^Exitn.'] 



Scene Y. — The Cabin of the Steamboat Reindeer, well 
down stage so as to allow setting of Scene VI in 
reo.r. Passengers seen moving about. Storm gather- 
ing; lightnijig, thunder, &c. 

Enter Pedestin and Eose. 

Rose. Dear cousin, you must not feel sad. We are 
not so long from home yet that you should become dis- 
couraged. I feel confident that we will soon get some 
tidings of him. 

Fed. It is not that alone, Eose, I have other fears, 
and yet I cannot place them. Did you notice that 
man with black whiskers who has been watching us 
so closely since we came on the boat? 

Rose. No, not particularly. 

Red. \_Aside.~\ When ever I look at him an in- 
ward fear takes possession of me. 

Enter Joel Mertloff and Eussell, l. 

Joel. [To Russell, 'pointing to Pedestin and Rose.^ 
The one this way — the fairest — mark her well. 

Russell. I could not forget if I would try. She is 
beautiful. 

Joel. Let us go, they are noticing us. \_Exit c. d.] 

Enter Cute l. 
Cute. Missie Patavine, we's gwin so fast dat de 



PEDESTIN. 43 



fiyer is comin' out ob de chimney ob de boat, and de 
trees look no bigger dan cane. 

Rose. We have a fast beat — the Eeindeer. 

Cute. Yes, I spec so, and 'tis de fastest boat dat 
meets with combustin'. 

Fed. Cute should any accident occur you come to 
your stateroom. 

Cute. I will, Missie Patavine, I isn't gwin to sleep 
much needer. \_Thunder heard.'] 

Hose. This is going to be a stormy night, cousin. 
We had better retire, 1 feel weary. 

Fed. lAside.] Yes, to bed, but no sleep for me. 

l^xit, c. D.] 

Cute. I'se got to keep my eyes pealed on des hyar 
boat, for de white folks can steal jes as well as de 
nigger, if nuffin better. 

Enter Green, c. d. 

Green. My colored friendj I suppose you hail from 
South, do you not ? 

Cute. Yes sah, I is. 

Green. Do you ever pray down there? 

Cute. Once in 'while, but when dar is cotton pick- 
ing, we diisn't say none den. 

Green. What kind of a field would it be for a 
missionary ? 

Cute. Missary? I dont knows what dat is, 'less 
'tis stealin' niggers, and 'tis bad for dat, kase dey 
hang all such fellows dar. 

Green. No, no, I am a minister of the gospel. 

Cute. Dar's none ob dat down dar, eedei-, I tinks 
dat you better try sum oder place. 

Green. You don't understand me — I mean, a 
preacher of the Lord and Saviour. 

Cute. O, yes, you is one of dem fellow. 

Green. Yes, I teach the colored folks the way to 
heaven. I will now teach you the ten command- 



44 PEDESTIN. 



ments that our Lord gave Moses on Mount Sinaii. 
[^Cute appears interested^ The first com '. andment is, 
thou shalt not kill. 

Gute. Yes, dat's it. 

Green. Second, thou shalt keep the Sabbath-day 
holy. 

Cute. Yes. 

Green. The third, thou shalt not covet thy neigh- 
bor's goods. \_Steals Outers pocket-book.'] 

Gute. Yes. 

Green. The fourth is, thou shalt not steal. 

Gute. Yes, dat's so. 

Green. O, I forgot there's a friend waiting for 
me, I'll teach you the rest to-morrow. \_Uxit R.] 

Cute. Dat fellow changed his mind in a hurry. I 
speck he is — \_Feets for his pocket-book.] he is — Oh, 
Lor' he — he stole my pocket-book. \_Buns around stage.] 
]No, [^Laughs.] he didn't, I'se fooled him, I'se got de 
money in my shu' ; dar ain't a red cent in dat book. 
O, golly, he didn't make much dat time. He show 
de nigger de way to heabben, he'll do well if he gets 
dar hissef O, golly, how he am fooled! [_JExit l.] 

FJnter Joel Mertloff and Bruce, r. 

Bruce. A bad night, I fear, Joel. 

Joel. Yes, but one well calculated to answer our 
purpose, everything is in readiness. Three hours more 
and we will be on the rapids — the cry of fire there 
will cause such a consternation, that we can easily 
eifect our plan without any fear of detection — the 
darkness of the hour will aid us, too. '[Thunder and 
lightning become louder and more vivid.] This night re- 
minds me of a similar one, which I have seen on 
this mighty river, near five years ago. 

Bruce. \_Much interested.] I remember of your 
telling me something about it, you had a girl along, 
I believe — 



PEDESTIN. 



45 



Joel Yes, and her equal in beauty, I have not seen 

since. 

Bruce. Beauty?— It seems that every one you 

speak of is a beauty. 

Joel. She was queen of all. 

Bruce. Did she get drowned, Joel? [Suppressing 

his voice.'] 

Joel. No. Everybody su^^posed she did. 
Bruce. How, then? 

Joel. You see, I got the girl dead in love with me, 
and after a while, I got tired of her; so, one stormy 
night Uke this, I took her in a skiff on the river with 
the intention of putting her under the water ; but 
the skiff was so light that 1 could not do so without 
endangering my life, so I took her back to the shore, 
and — an old well answered my purpose better, for, 
to this day, no one knows she is lying at the bottom 
of it. 

Bruce. Oh — my God — my — 

[A loud clap of fhimder is heard.'] 
Joel. Why — what has startled you? 
Bruce. Did you not feel tl^at clap of thunder; it 
took my breath away — continue. 

Joel. That is all. Only, at times, I fancy I see 
her weeping over the well. 

Bruce. Is she the one you call Meralla? 
Joel. No, her name was Isabel Benson. 
Bruce. [Trying to suppress himself.] Isabel Ben- 
Joe?. Did you know her? 

Bruce. Know her?— no. It was the oddness of 
the name that struck me. [The storm incrmsing in 
fury, rain falling.] Let's us go back, I feel a weak- 
ness coming over me from th*^ effects of that shock. 
[Going and aside.] My evidence is now complete. 
A just vengeance soon will be mine. [Exit c d.] 



46 PEDESTIN. 



Scene YI. — The Rapids. A. steamboat seen crossing 
stage from l to the head of ihem ; as she gets near 
them, is struck by lightning. Rapids cross stage right 
to left and recross again. The boat burns to end of 
scene. Cute comes down the rapids with Pedestin; 
after going through them, re-enters in two. 

Enter Cute, r., carrying Pedestin. 

Cute. Oh, tank de blessed Lor', I has saved you, 
Missie Patavine. I has saved you, and you is not 
dead. \_Raises her head and kneels by her. 2 

end of act II. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. — A set Inn (Sign Half-way.) A sign on r, 
" Ten miles to the Falls.'' 

Enter Walter Bruce, l. 

Bruce. [Looks around.'] "Half- Way-House," "Ten 
miles to the Falls." This house is half way between 
the Falls and where— well, it makes no difference — 
I'm not. going any farther for the present. The 
thought ' of that horrifying night still sickens my 
soul. It is seldom the "father of waters" is witness 
to such a sight. A boat struck by lightning loaded 
with human freight. Thank God, I was there, for 
I saved that night, the life of one whose memory is 
ever dear to me. Her whom I had not seen for four 
long years — the hope and joy of other days. I know 



PEDESTIN. 47 



not how I rescued her from the biirinng wreck, for, 
when I came to myself, I was on the shore and Rose 
Merview was saved. Cute, the faithful negro, saved 
Pedestin, but it was only escaping death to become 
a captive to Joel Mertloff, for hardly had she recov- 
ered from the shock, ere Mertlotf and his accom- 
plice abducted her, leaving the poor negro for dead, 
for he fought them until overpowered. Joel Mert- 
lotf, you will not taunt your victim long, for a swift 
and terrible retribution will soon overtake you. The 
just vengeance of a murdered sister will be mine. 

\_Exit into Lui.'] 

Enter Landlord a7id Paris Desmer, l, dressed as a 
hunter J with rifle, &c. 

Landlord. Let me tell you, stranger, that you 
never came into a better country for fishing, hunting 
and traj^ping than hereabouts. The woods are alive 
with game, and as you look to be a pretty clever 
fellow I wouldn't mind if you would become a neigh- 
bor of mme. Is your family large? I dare say a 
wife and two or three children. 

Paris. No, sir, I have no family, I'm not married. 

Landlord. So much the better. There is three or 
four marriagable girls in the neighborhood. Old 
Bob Johnson has one and 'Squire Green has another. 
They are well-to-do farmers, and I have two. JSTow, 
certainly out of four blooming girls you can't help 
getting a wife. I would like to ask you, if you have 
no objection, what part of the country you are from. 

Paris. No, sir, I am from the South. 

Landlord. Well, you are just as welcome as though 
you were from my native State, New Hampshire, so 
make yourself at home, and, after dinner, we will 
take a ride out, and I will show you the country, and 
should we have time we will drive to the falls. 

Paris. Thank ^^ou, sir. 



48 . PEDESTIN. 



Landlord. But come, let us go in, it's 'round to- 
wards noon. 

Paris. I wish to stay out a few moments longer. 
I desire to try my hand at targeting. I will join 
you presently. 

Layidlord. As you wish, but be on hand for din- 
ner. \_Enter Inn.'] 

Paris. That kind-hearted landlord seems to take 
a great interest in my welfare. He would have me 
married and settled before I well knew the name of 
the place. I will sta}'^ here for a time, and should the 
hunting field prove a success, 1 will remain all win- 
ter. I have not since seen my unknown friend and 
benefactor, but hope, even yet to return his kindness 
ten- fold. \_Going — sees Bruce is about to speak to Imn.'] 

Enter Walter Bruce, from Inn. 

Bruce. Ah, my friend, I will do the recognizing. 
[Shakes his hand.] lam glad to meet you. But, first, 
how came you here — any important business that 
called your attention ? 

Paris. No, not any, come here by mere chance. 
After parting with you I bought a hunting out-fit, 
and learning that this was a good country for game I 
left on the day following. Yesterday I arrived 
here. 

Bruce. [Aside.] Then he is ignorant of all. I 
must inform him, for I want his aid. 

Paris. Your letter and its contents I would wish — 

Brure. 'Not a word as to it, and you will favor me. 
Now, as to your coming here. I think it was more 
for good luck than otherwise. Now, listen to me, 
Paris Desmer. 

Paris. [Staiiled.] You know me, then? 

Bruce. Yes, I do. But should you know me keep 
it to yourself. In time you will know all. I will 
now tell you news of a startling character. I hope 



PEDESTJN. 49 



yoa will bear it with prudence and fortitude, for in 
time you will know all. 

Paris. Is it so momentous as all that? 

Bruce. You will soon be a judge. But, listen. 
Since you left home a great change has taken place. 
Colonel Nortville died in London, two months ago. 

Paris. Colonel Nortville dead ? 

Bruce. Yes. His will leaves his daughter, Pedes- 
tine, but a mere livelihood, in case she does not con- 
sent to marry one Joel Mertloff, w^hich she determi- 
nately declines doing. 

Paris. Is it possible that he disinherited his own 
daughter for refusing to marry this Mertloff? 

Bruce. Such is the case. Subsequently, Pedestin 
came North, accompanied by her cousin, Rose Mer- 
view, and a servant named Cute. I am told that 
the object of her tour is to learn of your where- 
abouts, 

Paris, l^^tarts.'] Mo. No, no. Not me. 

Bruce. Yes, you. No one else. 

Paris. Where are they, now ? 

Bruce. Not far from here. 

Paris. How came she to know^ that I was here, 
and my sojourn so short? 

Bruce. Love is an unerring pilot, Desmer. 

Paris. [^Aside.'] She loves me stiU. 

Bruce. The boat they came on met witli an acci- 
dent. 

Paris. [Starts.l Oh, God. She is not — 

Bruce. No, no. Cute saved her. 

Paris. Oh! Thank heavens for that. But her 
cousin — 

Bruce. She is safe, and cared for by a good wo- 
man not far from here. Pedestin is not quite so 
near, and — 

Paris. And w^here, tell me. 

Bruce. [_Aside.'] I would spare his feelings were 
it possible. \_Aloud.^ Oh! She was rescued from 



50 PEDESTIN. 



the boat by Cute, and afterward abducted by two 
men. Joel Mertloif was one of them, 

Paris. Oh, man, you will drive me mad. She to 
suffer all this for me — she a captive to a demon. Oh ! 
heaven, this is more than I have strength to bear. 
[7s supported by Bruce. ~\ 

Bruce. Cheer up. It is not half as bad as you 
think. Be advised by me, and you will soon have 
her for yourself. 

Paris. For her sake, I am ready to face death. 
Show me but the way ! 

Bruce. No, not so hasty. In a day or two. Cute 
will be recovered, for we will need bis assistance. 

Paris. Cute wounded ? 

Bruce. Yes. He fought bravety in her defense, 
but they finally overpowered him and left him for 
dead. Be of good cheer; by to-morrow, I will have 
effected a plan for her release. Eemain here, that I 
may know where to find you — and be your own 
counsel. \_Exit l.] 

Paris. [Looking after him.'] Startling? Thou 
mightst well call thy news startling. She in the 
powe^ of him who knows not merc}' — the thought 
is terrible. 

Enter Cute, r., loalking lame, one arm tied up in a 
white cloth. When he sees Paris, he increases his speed. 

Cute. O, Massa Paris, [Takes his hand.] I'se so 
glad, I'se so glad to see you. Missie Patavine is 
carried away, and I can't lib widout her, I has fought 
hard to keep her, but dey took her from me. We 
must get her back, I'se ready to die for her. \_Much 
moved.'] 

Paris. \_Aside.] Poor fellow! What a faithful one 
he is ! \_Aloud.] Yes, Cute. To-morrow night, we 
will rescue her. Did they wound you badly? 

Cute. No, Massa Paris. I'se near well now, 'twas 



PEDESTTN. 51 



dat Joel Mertloff dat shot me, and took Missie Pata- 
vine wid auoder man. We has one friend here, I 
knows him long time ago, he saved Missie Rose. 
Don't ask me his name, kase I don't keer 'bout tellin' 
it. He know where Missie Patavine is, and will help 
us get her. 

Paris. No. I won't ask you — he is our friend then. 

Cute. Yes, I knows it. 

Paris. Cute, remain with me, I will see that your 
wants are supplied. 

Cute. Tankee, Massa Paris, I wills. 

Paris. And by the setting of two more suns, we 
will, with the assistance of a just Providence, free 
her from her thralldom, which is worse than death. 

\_Exit Inn.'] 

Scene II. — Interior of a Log House denoting strength. 

Enter Joel Mertloff and Granny Swabs, door in c. 

Joel. Well, Granny, how fares my j^et? 

Grammy. Inclined to be sulky, Mr. Mertloff. Just 
like all hei* kind. She will cool down, I think, before 
long — close quarters and no show of escape, is a 
cure in itself, to say nothing of your sweet words, 
and them, I know^ jovl have. 

Joel. [^Trying to laugh.'] So you think 1 have a 
flattering tongue, do you, Granny? [Gives her money.] 

Granny. 'Tis you that have: that is all you fine 
gentlemen study — especially handsome ones like you 
— when it suits your purposes. 

Joel. I believe 1 owe you a little back change. 
[^Gives her more ynoney.] 

Granny. Thank you, Mr. Mertloff, your generous 
heart is ni keeping with your good looks — which 
cannot be said of every fine gentleman. You said 
something about letting this miss out to take a little 
fresh air occasionally, how about that? 



52 PEDESTIN. 



Joel. We will wait a few days — too much humor- 
ing would have a bad effect. I want her to un- 
derstand that she is in my power, and no hopes of 
getting out of it, until she accedes to my wishes, for, 
she will then become sensible of her position and 
will early realize the importance of coming to terms. 

Granny. You have had a great deal of experience 
in such matters, your knowledge extends a long 
way, Mr. Mertloff. 

Joel. Well — yes — I have had a little experience in 
my time. 

Granny. I know that. 

Joel. Granny, you must be careful, and not hold 
any long chat with her. You know that when you 
women's tongues get agoing, you don't know when 
the}^ will stop. She is very shrewd, and might be 
prying you for secrets that I don't wish her to know. 
I now warn you of ever mentioning the name of 
Isabel Benson to her. 

Granny. I am crafty enough for that. 1 have had 
dealing with too many of her sort to be gumed by 
her now. 

Joel. Yes, but none as sharp as she is. 

Granny. I ain't dull, neither. 

Joel. I know that. I only thought to put you on 
your guard — good counsel is ever acceptable to the 
wise. 

Granny. I don't object, Mr. Mertloff', no indeed. 

Joel. What do you think of her — do you think a 
man could be happy with her — after she moderates? 

Granny. Men are so changeable, that is very hard 
to tell. 

Joel. You are becoming sarcastic, G-ranny. That 
was intended for me — I know your joking turns. 

Granny. No, not for you, in particular. All men 
are mostly alike on that point. 

Joel. It is her wealth that I am after. I don't 
care a fig for her beauty. \_Going.'\ Tell Miss Nort- 



PEDESTIN. 53 



ville that I wish to see her this morning. [Aside.'] 
Bruce's absence I cannot account for. He is now 
aw^ay a day. Something must be amiss with him. 

[Exit door.'] 
Granny. I will bear the glad tidings to her, as she 
terms them. As long as I fill my purse it matters 
not to me which way the wind blows. [Coiuiting the 
money.] He was inclined to be generous to-day. A 
little blarney never hurts men. They are naturally 
conceited, and their vanity is easily imposed on. The 
longer she stays here, the better it is for me, and the 
prospects are now that it will be for some tirfie. She 
has a mind of her own, and a strong one at that. 

[Exit L.] 

Enter Mertloff, with Bruce, c. d. 

Joel. I could not tell for the life of me what had 
become of you. 

Bruce. When I lost my horse I had to foot it, and 
one makes slow headway among thickets and brush. 
The worst I have to tell is that I did not accomp- 
lish my mission. 

Joel. You will have to make another trip, then. 

Bruce. Yes, and to-night, which makes me sick 
of this country life. [G-ruffly.] 

Joel. Don't be discouraged, young man, nothing 
was ever accomplished in a day. You are indulging 
in another fit of the blues— that no sensible minded 
person is ever troubled with. You must have been 
born in twilight, when the spirit of uneasiness is said 
to rule supreme. 

Bruce. [Aside.] Nor will 1 until I see you swing 
from the gallows. [Aloud.] I happened to be of a city 
turn of mind, Joel, backwood life and me don't 
agree, but then I think that I can stand it as long as 
you can. That is, if she don't wear us both out. 
What think you? 



54 PEDESTIN, 



Joel. Not she, I think I notice a change in her 
ah^eady. 

Bruce. Good. The sooner the better. 

Joel. You have heard nothinr as to the fate of her 
cousin. You remember of seeing her when the boat 
was in flames? 

Bruce. No, I do not. The falling of that timber 
on me cut nw recollection short, for when I recov- 
ered my senses I lay on the shore, shivering from the 
night air. 

Joel. That negro, Cute, have you heard anything 
of him*? 

Bruce. No. I suppose that he is dead. 

Joel. I hope so. He fought like a tiger. I had to 
shoot him twice. \_Pedestin and Granny heard, out- 
side.'] Ah, here come her ladyship. 

Bruce. Then I will leave. [AszV/e.] Now, to give 
her this letter [sJiows letter'] unseen by him. \_As he 
is going out, she enters; he hands her the letter.] 

Enter Pedestin, c. d. 

Joel. Ah, Miss Pedestin, I thank you for your 
alacrity. I did not look for you so soon. May I 
hope that you are in more settled state of mind this 
morning? Your appearance goes far to indicate it. 

Fed. Mock me, with your scoffing tongue, if it be 
your pleasure. Flattery and reproach are seasoned 
alike by your lips. I am no longer the weak, ineffec- 
tual one you thought me. I fear you not, Mertloff. 
Do your worst — a man, whose soul is so debased by 
sin as yours, is a poltroon to his actions. 

Joel. [Aside.] Ha, ha, showing you true colors, 
are you? so will I hoist mine. [Aloud.] I am not 
desirous of entering into a controversy, this morning. 
Tongue- slashing is not my forte. I wished to spare 
your feelings all I possibly could ; but as you seem 
open to discord, my clemency is rendered unavailable. 



PEDESTIN. 55 



Now to be plain with you. Pedestin, you are hope- 
lessly in ni}^ power — not the remotest show of deliv- 
erance. I have solemnly sworn that you will be my 
wife. To keep that oath, I have abducted you here, 
fully resolved on your retention, until you consent 
to become mine. I would counsel you to prudence, 
and beg you to submit to reason. Ere many days 
have passed, you will see the wisdom of an early 
compliance. 

Fed. When the midnight assassin casts aside 
his mask,- his true character is known — so it is 
with you, Joel Mertloif, I see you now unveiled. 
You give me to understand that I am in your 
power — your captive — and I am to remain here 
until I gratuitously consent to marry jon. O, 
man, fiend — or whatever you are — do yoa think, by 
confining me here, , you will induce me to become 
your wife? No — go set my prison- walls in flames, 
for, sooner would I be buried among their smoulder- 
ing ruins, than live and bear the stigma of your 
na^e. [Change sides.'] 

Joel. I am sorry to see you thus dictated by a so 
irresistible mind, for, no good will come from it. The 
longer you strive to evade the issue, the more rebel- 
lious will this spirit become. You know that it was 
your father's wish that we should be married, and to 
make it more infallible, at his dying hour, he stipul- 
ated it in his will. 

Fed. I wish, sir, you would spare my father's 
name — his memory should at least be held sacred — 
and, though he did acquiesce in my marriage, I am 
compelled to treat it as naught. 

Joel. Oh, well, if you are as persistent as all that, 
you will be the sufferer. 

Fed. I may be for a time, Mertloff, but mark me, 
a swift and terrible retribution will soon overtake 
you. Pride yourself on my forcible retention here — 
brave — noble — generous man that you are. It is an 



* 

56 PEDESTIN. 



insult to man's form, that you have his shape — you 
who believe not in sacrificing Love on Hymen's 
altar. 

Joel. If thus be your bent, I will leave you. My 
argument is shivered to atoms by your womanly 
tongue; but, remember, Pedestin JSTortville, that out 
of this house, you never shall go, until you consent 
to be mine, or unless it be to your grave. 

[Exit door.'] 

Fed. To my grave be it, then ! 

Enter Granny Swabs. 

Granny. Come, miss to your room, 1 can't leave 
you alone here — Mr. Mertloff's orders are strict, and 
must be complied with. 

Ped.. I suppose his orders are rigid ; but, granny, 
you will leave me here a few moments, it is so much 
more pleasant here than in that dark room. 

Granny. T would, if 1 could ; but, you see, I cant. 
I will do all I can for your comfort. 

Fed. Tliank you, granny, I am sure you will. 
Has Mr. Mertloff had this place long? 

Granny. For some time, I believe. 

Fed,. Had he ever any one confined here as I am? 

Granny. This is a question 1 don't care about 
answering. 

Fed. \_Gives her money .1 You know we must talk 
about something. 

Granny. Well, as- it is you — and I know you 
won't say anj^hing about it — I will tell you. 

Fed. I won't say a word. 

Granny. He had three here. 

Fed. [Starts.'] Three, here! 

Granny. Yes, but none for two years till you 
came. 

Fed. What became of them? 

Graimy. That, I can't really say. He took them 



PEDESTIN. 57 



away, and that was th*e last I ever saw or heard of 
them. 

Ped. Do you remember their names? 

Granny, No. You see, they didn't stay here long, 
and 'tis over two or three years ago, I forget which, 
since the last one was here. They were not as pretty 
as you are, but they were mild and gentle girls. 

Fed. Why, granny — ain't I mild and gentle? 

Granny. Mr. Mertloff says not. I suppose he 
must know — he has more dealing with you than I 
have. But, then, I like you for that — 1 like to see a 
woman stand up for her right and speak her mind 
right out, as yon do — these crying girls, I have no 
use for. I think Mr. Mertloff found his match in 
you. 

Ped. What makes you think so, granny? 

Granny. I heard you talking to him — none of the 
other girls ever was that bold — he did the talking, 
and they the crying. But I see there is none of that 
around 3^ou. 

Ped. No, granny, I don't shed m}^ tears here. 
\_Aside.~\ Oh, I forgot about ^he letter I got from that 
strange man, as I came in. \_Aloud.'] Granny, \_Gives 
money.'] will you get me a drink of water? — I am so 
thirsty. 

Granny. Certainly. I will — and any favor I can 
do for you, just let me know it. \_Aside.'] I am getting 
to like that girl better and better every day — and 
she has plenty of money, too, which makes her still 
worthier of kindness. \_Counting mojiey.~\ and she 
knows how to use it — which a heap of folks don't. 

[Exit door.'] 

Ped. Now for the contents of that letter. [^Oj^ens 
letter and reads:] "Your deliverance from captiv- 
ity will be before the setting of another sun. 
Hold yourself in readiness — make no ostentation, 
so til at suspicion may not arise — for much depends 
on your part. Your friends are not far distant, 



58 PEDESTIN.' 



and, he who gave you this, will lead them to 
your rescue. Your Unknown Friend. 

"P. S. — I would say more, did I not fear that joy 
would override your j)rudence." 

[Thoughtfully.'] He ^' would say more, did he not fear 
that joy would override prudence," Can I believe — 
can I hope? No, no — I dare not encourage the 
thought — it would be hoping too much, 'Tis well 
that he did not, for, were it so, I could not contain 
myself My cousin, then, was saved, and poor Cute, 
to whom I owe my life, is not dead. [ Wipes her eyes.'] 
I must not show any sign of tears when granny 
comes in, she might suspect something wrong. Now, 
to be as cool and indifferent as a man hanging, I 
mean, after he is hung. If 1 could but know the 
time of day — 



Re-enter Granny Swabs, witJi a glass of water. 

Oh, granny, [Unthinkingly.] what time is — [Granny 
starts, spills rvater.] I mean, what kind of water have 
you ?' 

Granny. " What kind of water have I?" 'Tis on 
the floor now, and you can judge for yourself 

Fed. Oh, granny, I did not mean to startle you ; 
however, I will do without it now, I do not wish to 
tax your kindness. 

Granny. Oh, no, you won't — I would not deny 
any creature a drink. 

Fed. Never mind, ^-ranny. 1 will go with you to 
my room, I feel a faintness coming on me from the 
excitement of this morning. 

Granny. As you wish, my dear ; but I hope you 
will not get sick. You will have one comfort — if you 
should — 

Fed. What?— . 

Granny. There will be no danger of your dying. 

Fed. How do you make that out, granny? 



PEDE6TIN. 59 



Granny. Why, we have no doctors about these 
diggings. 

Fed. l^Aside.'] Freedom will cure me. My heart 
will count each fleeting moment, as they take their 
leave and my lips kiss them good-bye. 

\_Exit both, door.'] 

Scene III. — Same as Scene I, Act HI. 

JEnter Landlord, from Inn. 

Landlord. Well, I don't see what in the world has 
got into that young man, Mr. — Mr. — what is this he 
calls himself? — Well it don't mutter, He is as un- 
easy as a crab out of water. He has been here three 
days and has not sat down, laid down, or eaten any- 
thing as yet, which is well for my pocket. And, 
what is more strange, he is continually in the com- 
pany of my daughters; just as I was when 1 was 
sparking. Swivel me if I don't think he is in love 
with Betty. I know that she is struck right down in 
love with him. Well, 'tis no wonder, he's a handsome 
/feller. If they should get married I will set them 
right down on that small farm across the creek, and 
let them hoe out a future for themselves, as I did 
with less help. Then, if I find him a right good son- 
in-law, I will let him and Betty run the '^ Half- Way," 
when they carry me to the bone-yard, although I 
don't think that will bo for a dozeli years yet. 

Enter Walter Bruce, l. 

Bruce. Ah, landlord, good day. 

Landlord. The same to you, sir. 

Bruce. Landlord, can't you tell me where 1 would 
be most apt to get the loan of a skiff that would 
car^y about four persons? I want to use it only 
one night. 



60 PEDESTIN. 



Landlord. That is pretty hard to get around here. 
I have one, but I don't care about letting it out. I 
had one broken on me, and to this day I never got a 
red for it. 

Bruce. \_Gives him money.'] Well, you see I am an 
old sailor and always keep a weather- e^^e to breakers 
ahead. 

Landlord. If that's the case, I don't mind if you 
do take the boat for the night, but take good care of 
it and be sure that you don't forget to return it. 

Bruce. I will reef her should a gale come up, and 
if the storm continue, I will cast anchor on dry land. 

Ljandlord. All right. I see you understand the 
ropes. You will find the boat ready when you are. 

\^Exit door.] 

Bruce. So much accomplished. Now to see Des- 
mer and Cute, and then for the finale. Mertloff, I be- 
lieve, is half way on the alert. Whether he surmises 
anything amiss or not, he keeps it to himself. 1 was 
lucky in getting so favorable an opportunity to give 
Pedestin N^ortville the letter. I told her nothing of 
young Desmer, fearful that, in the joy of the mo- 
ment, she would be thrown off her guard. 

jEnter Desmer and Cute. Both are about to speak. 
Bruce, seeing theju, comes forward. 

Bruce. My friends, leave that to me. I am glad 
to see you both. 

Paris. And we are no less to see you, sir. 

Cute. We is dat, massa, ^brings hand to mouth] for 
Massa Paris is all de time frettin' 'bout Missie Pata- 
vine. We is ready to get her. 

Bruce. That will be to-night. 

Paris. To-night? Thank you, friend, that is wel- 
come news. Show us but the way, you will find 
our valliancy worthy of the prize. 

Bruce. I doubt it not. I have all in readiness — I 



PEDESTIN. 61 



have a boat at our command — Pedestin, too, is fore- 
warned of the rescue, and will act accordingly. See 
that you are well armed, for, should you meet resist- 
ance, you will have to use them. 

Paris. I will look to that. 

Cute. I'se all right. \_Shows pistoc.'] I has got dis 
hyar to cook his goose, if he show his mug dar. 

Bruce. The place of her confinement is not so 
very far but is difficult of access. It is situated among 
thicket and brush ; there is but one path leading 
there, and that is on the verge of a deep ravine. I 
have a trusty horse for Pedestin's use, give him 
free rein, and I warrant that he will guide you safe 
to the river. 

Paris. So near, and yet in his power. 

Bruce. N^ot after to-night. Should I make a faint 
show of resistance, after you are beyond pursuit, re- 
member I do it to ward off suspicion — I have not 
yet settled accounts with him. There is no time now 
to be lost. Meet me at the boat in one hour — we 
must cross the river and gain the path before it is 
dark. 

Paris. \_Aside.^ An hour — oh — my heart already 
seems pennoned fy a thousand wings that would fain 
bear it on afore. 

Bruce. Remember the time, now or never. 

[^Exit R.] 

Paris. Now be it, then. ^Exit l.] 

Cute. [Shoiving pistol.'] I will load her to de muz- 
zle, and I'll gib his goose cookin', dat will last him. 

[Exit R.] 

Enter Landlord, in haste. 

Landlord. Well, if that young man, my intended 
son-in-law hasn't put everything and everybody in a 
complete tumult. He is running from post to pillar 
— loading and reloading pistols — I suppose that he 



62 PEDESTIN. 



meditates suicide, or somebody's side, from the way 
he is carrying on. And to make it worse, he has 
got my daughter Betty in equally as uneasy a state of 
mind — for, she is kind of sweet on the fellow — 
{Bugle heard.'] Ah, there is the seven o'clock stage — 
that means business. [Exit Jnn.] 



Scene IY. — A steep 'precipice — high rocks on both sides. 
There must he a bridge or plank across from side to 
side, that will bear the weight of two, and can easily 
knocked away, after Desmer, Fedestin and Cute have 
crossed it. Cataract in the distance. Further up, the 
precipice becomes winding, and path leading up to the l. 



Fnter Joel Mertloff and Eussell, mouth of preci- 
pice, L. 

Joel. There is my secret pass, Eussell. [Pointing 
to bridge.] t have often baffled pursuit by crossing 
there — it saves five miles of a round — which is a 
great deal in a country like this. 

Russell. Yes, it is that. 

Joel. It is already passed midnight, I know that 
Bruce has returned and is waiting for us. [Going.] 
Mind your steps here, see that your footing is secure, 
you would not feel the better of a fall. 

[Exit both by winding path.] 

Enter Bruce, Paris and Cute, mouth of precipice, l. 

Bruce. This pass will take us to the rear of the 
house where Pedestin is confined. I hope we will 
get her off before Mertloff is aware of y oar presence. 
See that pathway : [Pointing to bridge across ravine."] 
I would have Cute guard it, for, should you be pur- 
sued, cross there, and then knock the structure 



PEDESTIN. 63 



away — it is but a temporary one, and you will have 
several miles the advantage over yov^r pursuers. 

Paris. That will be as you wish. 

Cute. [Pulling out pistol.^ I'll guard dat, massa. 
Nebber fear — and I'll help Massa Paris, too. 

Bruce. This way. [Going.'] 

Paris. [Aside.'] To the haven of my love ! 

Bruce. See that you do not miss a step — to fall 
here would cost a life. [They descend by winding 
path — Cute at the path-way on top.] This is your post, 
Cute, see that you guard it. Speak low for there is 
the house. Paris will be back presently. [Dis- 
appears.] 

Cute. I guards it to de last. Now to [holds out 

pistol] cook his goose [Looking off l.J Dis way, 

dis way, Massa Paris. He's got her — he's coming. 
Dis w^ay — oh — dey am after him. [Pushes off to meet 
him.] 

[Be- appear Cute, Paris carrying Pedestin. 

Cute. Cross hyar, Massa Paris, cross hyar. [3Ie?i- 
loff, Eussell and Bruce heard, behind. Paris crosses car'- 
rying Pedestin^ Cute follows. Just as they are across, 
appear Mertloff, Russell and Bruce. Mertloff is about 
to step on the oridge-way, when Cute knocks it away. 
Cute defies them in dumb show.] 

Peris. Thank heaven, she is saved! 



END OP ACT III. 



64 PEDESTIN. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. — A Plain Boom. 

Enter Cute, l. 

Cute. We is all to home 'gain, and Massa Paris, 
too, and I'se so glad ob it. Dar no place like home, 
arter all — trabeling I'se got no use for, on de boat, 
'pecially, dey is all smoke and water. Missie Pata- 
vine is so glad now, dat she am laffin' all de time. I 
'spec dat her and Massa Paris is soon — 

Enter Pedestin, unseen by Cute, l. 

gwine to get married, kase dey both lub each odder, 
dat I knows. Won't I hab a good time, den? 

Fed. Won't you, though? [Laughing.'] 

Cute. [^Starts.] Ah, Missie Patavine, I'se jus 
tinkin' dat — 

Fed, You would have a good time at our wed- 
ding, eh? 

Cute. Yes, dat's it. 

Fed. I hope you Avill, indeed. 

Cute. So does I. 

Fed. Cute, I wish 3^ou to go to the village. Here 
are two letters — one for Mr. Mason, and the other 
for — \_G-wes letters.] 

Cute. I knows — don't tell me. I takes dem right 
'way, dis one for Massa Mason, and dat one for Massa 
Paris. I'll put one in dis pocket and de oder in dat, 
80 I'se shu' to hab dem right. 

Fed. Yes, that's right, make no mistake in them. 

Cute. I'll know dem 'part. One is 'bout business, 
and de oder 'bout lub. [Exit singing, l.] 



TEDESTIN. 65 

Fed. \_Looding after him.'] I owe him a debt of 
gratitude that I am powerless to pay. 

Enter Eose, r. c. 

Bose. Well, cousin, is not home after all, truly 
delio-htful? Do you remember the beautiful words, 
"There is no place like home"? [Sings ''-Sweet Home.'' 

Fed. No — not after a journey like ours, Eose. 

Eose. True. And what an ordeal one it was. 
Were not all forcibly impressed on my mind, I would 
fain think of it as some dehisive dream ; but — how 
happily it resulted ! T know that you feel happj' 
now, and, in that thought, I, too, find \_Sighs.'] some 
comfort. 

Fed. Thank you, cousin. But how is it that j^ou 
seem so changed since our return ? You seem to be 
all absorbed in mind. 

Bose. And so I am. 1 cannot drive the thought 
from my mind, that our rescuer was no less a per- 
sonage than Walter Benson, once mj^ plighted lover. 

Fed. Is it possible ? 

Mose. Yes. I cannot be mistaken — for, I felt his 
lips touch mine, ere he thought I had recovered — 
and — I heard him utter my name. 

Fed. Then, it must have been him. But, why 
didn't he make himself known to you? 

Eose. This is the mystery. He was in disguise — 
I could see that by his misplaced wig — for, he wore 
one. 

Fed. In disguise? That obscures the mystery 
more. What could be his motive for that? 

Eose. That is the subject of my thoughts; but I 
fail to discern anything. 

Fed. Do you think he still loves you ? 

Eose. Yes, I feel confident of it. And would 
you believe, that I dreamed of him last night, and 
that he named our wedding-day? 



66 PEDESTIN. 



Fed. Then, you dream will be true, a.s it was he, 
who named it. 

Rose. May heaven grant that it will! 

Fed. I have sent Cute with a letter to Mr. Mason. 
He is to settle my portion of the will, to-day. I 
am looking for him every moment. It is the only 
obstacle that would further delay — 

Rose. Your marriage. Then, remove it at once. 
I w^ill hail with joy the hour that will see your hap- 
piness consumaled. \_Exit l.] 



Scene II. — A Set Cottage. 
Enter Paris and Bruce, l. 

Paris. Assist you? Yes, ask me to hazard my 
life, and see if I'd refuse. 

Bruce. No, I would not look for that. Aid me 
but in this, and you will have fully repaid me. 

Paris. Here is my hand on it. [Gives hand.'] 

Bruce. The well we must find first. It is some 
where near the river bank, and has not been used 
for years. Do you remember of there beini* such a 
one in the neighborhood? 

Paris. Yes, I do. It must be the willow well. It 
is neartly full of brush, and is close by the river 
bank. 

Bruce. That must be the one where her body has 
mouldered. My poor sister — ! 

Paris. But it will not remain there longer. It 
will now bear witness to convict the foul assassin — 

Bruce. And by to-morrow, I will have him 
dragged, fettered, to prison, and show the world a 
fiend whose equal never inhabited human shape. 

Paris. \_Starts.'] Mertloff at home ! 

Bruce. Yes, he returned last night, but few know 
it. 



PEDESTIN. 67 



Paris. Does he not suspect your true character? 

Bruce. No — not he. It was but this morning, he 
pro2:)Osed to me a plot to take your life — but be not 
uneasy as to that, I will see that you run no danger. 
Meet me to-night at nine, I will wait for you at the 
bridge. 

Paris. I will be there, you may depend on it. 
\^Exit Bruce, l.] He plots against my life — it is no 
more than I expected to hear. But, Ihank heaven, 
a well-merited retribution will soon overtake him. 



Enter Mrs. Desmer, from cottage, with a letter. 

Mrs. D. Wh}^, Paris, where have you been? Din- 
ner is cold — waiting for you. 

Paris. I intended to be back sooner, mother ; but 
I rtiet a friend, and he detained me. 

Mrs. D. Cute has been here and left a letter for 
you. \_Gives letter.'] Here it is. 

Paris. [^Aside.] It is from her, I know. \_Opens it.] 

Mrs. D. Paris, I would like to speak with you — 
if you have leisure time. 

Paris. Certainly, mother — my time is yours. 

Mrs. D. But you have not read your letter. 

Paris. There is nothing very urgent in it, I don't 
think. 

Mrs. D. Paris, I have a matter of great import- 
ance to communicate to you, and I know not how to 
broach it. Do not censure me — for one word of 
reproach from you, would almost break my heart. 1 
love you as well as if you were my own son — 

Paris. \_Starts.'] I, not your son — oh ! mother, 
you are not serious. No, no, you can not be — 

3frs. D. Yes, Paris, I am. Do not turn away 
from me — stay and hear me through. I know that 
I acted wrong; but I could not help it. Though I 
am not your mother, I have tried to be one to you — 



68 PEDESTIN. 



Paris. I know you have, and I forgive yo-i — your 
kindness has ever made you a mother to me. 

Mrs. D. Bless you for that. I will tell you all, 
and you will blame me less. Twent}^ years ago, my 
husband and I, with an infant daughter then five 
months old, were on our way West. The boat we 
were on met with an accident, near these shores. 
Nearly all on board were lost. I leaped from the 
boat with my babe in my arms — and, when I came 
to my senses, I w^as in a hut, and my child gone. It 
was about a month after, that an old negro told me 
he had found my child on the shore- — almost lifeless — 
and carried it to the residence of Colonel Nortville. 
Mrs. Xortville, at that time, had twins — a boy and a 
girl — the age of mine. It so happened that her in- 
fant daughter died the night that mine was brought 
there. So, unknown to any one — save that old 
negro — she adopted my child, and said that mine 
died instead of hers. I was determined on regaining 
vciy child, for I had no one now — my husband was 
drowned. One night I entered the house — and, un- 
seen by any one, 1 stole to the cradle where my babe 
and her son were sleeping. In my confusion, I took 
the wrong one — it was her son — you, George Nort- 
ville — 

Paris. {^Starts.'] Me — Geo-rge Nortville ! Oh, no, 
not I — 

Mrs. D. Yes, you — Paris. You are sole heir to 
your father's wealth. Pedestin is my daughter — I 
have your mother's dying confession of the facts. 
Will you forgive me, now that you know how much I 
am to blame ? 

Paris. Forgive you? O, yes, I forgive you — and 
you will be my mother still. \_They embrace.'] 

Mrs. D. Heaven bless you. [ Takes papers from her 
pocket.] I expect Mr. Mason here every moment. 
These are the papers to prove your parentage. Here 
he comes now. \_Ijooking off, l.] 



PEDESTIN. 69 



Enter Lawyer Mason, l. 

Mason. Good-da3^ Mrs. Desmer. [To Paris.'] 
This is your son — I mean — Mr. George Nortville. 

Mrs. D. Yes, Mr. Mason, he is. 

Mason. Then, Mr. Nortville, I am happy to con- 
gratulate you on your good fortune. [They shake 
hands.] 

Paris. Thank you, sir. 

Mrs. B. Here are the papers 1 spoke of, [gives 
papers] Mr. Mason. 

Mason. Now, let us proceed to business. I have 
3^et to acquaint Miss Pedestin Nortville — I mean 
Desmer — of these facts, for, her right to any part of 
the estate becomes null and void. Mr. Nortville, we 
will need your presence in this matter. [Exit both in c] 

Paris. O, heaven, can this be true? I — George 
Nortville — a millionaire. [Exit in c] 



Scene III. — A Street in the Village. 
Enter Mertloff and Bruce, l. 

Joel. A thousand dollars is yours the moment the 
job is done. You run no risk whatever — you are not 
known here — therefore, you are the last one that 
would be suspected. You cannot make it easier. 
Make up you mind, and see me to-morrow at Mor- 
say. [Going.] 

Bruce. [Looking off R, anxiously.] Stay, I may 
make up my mind now. [Aside.] I expect the of- 
ficers every moment. [Adoud.] You say, one thou- 
sand dollars — 

Joel. Yes, one thousand. If I cannot hire it done, 
I will do it myself, for, I have sworn that he should 
not live to make her his wife. 



70 PEDESTIN. 



Bruce. [Looking off r.] Couldn't you make it five 
hundred more? The job is worth it" 

Joel. Well, I will give five hundred more. But, 
remember, you must make a clean thing of it. 

[ Goifig.'j 

Paris. Hold, T wouldn't care if you would give 
me a few hundred as bonus. [Looking off r.] 

Joel All right. Here is three hundred dollars. I 
hope this will satisfy you. The rest when the work 
is done. [Going.^ 

Bruce. Here, you made a mistake, [Counting 
money.'] There's only two hundred here. [Gives money 
back.] 

Joel. [Counting money.'] Yes, there's three hundred 
here. [Off^ers it hack.] 

Bruce. [Looking off r. Aside.] Ah, here they 
come. [Offers money again. Aloud.] No, keep your 
sordid dollars — your own hands are better fit than 
mine to do such Avork — 

Joel. AYhat mean you? 

Bruce. The}- will tell you. [Pointing to officers.] 

Enter Two Officers, r. 

Officer, Joel Mertloff, I arrest you, in the name 
of the State, on the charge of murder. 

Joel. [Starts.] Me — charged with murder! And 
whom have I murdered ? 

Officer. Isabel Benson, whose body was found in 
willow well. 

Joel. [Staggers back.'] Isabel Benson. Who dares 
charge me with her murder? 

Bruce. [Throwing off' disguise.] I — Walter Ben- 
son — her brother. 

Joel. [Startled.] You— Walter Benson! 

Bruce. Yes, I — who swore to avenge a murdered 
sister. Now, mark the fulfillment of that oath. 
[Points to the officers.] 



PEDESTIN. 71 

Joel. You, infamous traitor — insidious fiend — if 
this be your plotting — 

Enter Cute, followed by Villagers, l. 

Take this as your reward [Takes pistol out of his 

pocket, fires at Bruce. Cute, who is standing behind him, 
knocks up his arm.'] 

Cute. You has murdered enough to hang twice. 
\_The officers seize Joel and force him of r. Villagers 
shouting. Exit after him.'] 

Bruce. Cute, you have saved my life. How am I 
to thank you ? 

Cute, i'se glad, Massa Bruce, dai I was dar to do 

it — 

Bruce. 1 am Bruce no more from to-day. My 
oath is fulfilled. Sister, thou art avenged! 

\_Exit both R.] 



Scene IV. — A furnished apartment. 
Enter Pedestin and Eose, c. 

Fed. No, Eose, I am no longer Pedestin Nort- 
ville. Mr. Mason says I forfeit all now — even the 
name. 

Base. And you are not my cousin, neither. 

Fed. No. \_Weeps.] 

Rose. Don't cry for that, dear Pedestin, I will 
love you just as well as though you were. But how 
strange for Mrs. Desmer to be your mother, and 

Paris" Des , I mean, George Nortville to be 

the lawful heir. 

Fed. [More cheerful] Yes, I was forgetting that — 
mistaking tears of joy for sorrow. Oh; thank thee, 
heaven, that thou hast rendered unto him what is 
his — and gave me a mother. 



72 PEDESTIN. 



Rose. Yes, and I think all is for the best, dear, 
and, if I mistake not, you will [laughing'] ultimately 
be Mrs. Pedestin iSTortville. 

Fed, No, no, Eose — not now. His wealth makes 
a channel between us not to be spanned. I hold him 
not to his promise — he is free now to choose an- 
other. 

Rose. Bat he will not. His sudden accession to 
wealth will not change him. If his love was ever 
true, this will be but to gloss it. [Asic/e.] Still, it is 
hard to trust him — he is a man and, of course, has 
their traits. [Exit c] 

Unter Cute, l. 

Cute. Missie Patavine, I jus been to de billage, 
and dey are trying dat Joel Mertloif for" dat murder. 
I 'spec dat dey will hang him. Massa Paris, and his 
moder is comin' obber hyar, and an'der gemman, too. 
[Aside.] Massa Benson. 

Fed. Coming here? [Sadly.] 

Cute. Yes, Missie Patavine, ain't you glad? 

Ped. O, yes, I am. I have no more right here, 
Cute; I must now seek another home, and earn my 
bread by labor. 

Cute. No, you isn't, 'long as I'se got dese two 
hands, I'll work for you, and earn you bread. [Puts 
out hands.] 

Ped. But I lose you, also, Cute. They leave 
me nothing. 

Cute. [Moved.] No, dey can't, kase Massa Kurnel 
he gib me to you 'fore he went away. I knows dat 
dat dey can't take me, I is yours, in spite ob dem. 

Ped. I will keep you, Cute, though I should have 
to sell my jewels to beg you back. 

Cute. I'se glad ob dat, for, I hates to part wid 
you, Missie Patavine. I'll work for you a long time, 
dough I'se ole. [JExit r.] 



PEDESTIN. 



73 



Enter Paris and Mrs. Desmer, l. 

Fed, Mrs. Des — , oh ! my mother, [Rushes into 
her arms.'] my dear mother. 

Mrs. D. Then, you forgive me, dear daughter. 

Fed. Forgive you, dear mother ? You have done 
nothing to ask forgiveness for. 

Mrs. JD. Bless you, dearest child ; I was afraid 
you might think me guilty of blame. 

Fed. No, mother, no — you are not to be blamed. 

Mrs. D. Oh, how I have longed for this hour — 
that I might fold you to my heart, and call you 
daughter. 

Fed. Yes, mother, your love for me has often 
betrayed itself; but — come, let us leave here. [To 
Faris.] Mr. Nortville, I now resign all to you. 
Too long have you been deprived of your own — 
though it was unknowingly held. I wish you joy 
and happiness. [Going.'] 

Faris. What Pedestin? You do not mean to 
igno .'e me now ? 

Fed. You are free to choose another, whose 
station is in accordance with your own. [Aside.] May 
heaven guide you ! [Aloud. Moved.] Come, mother. 

[Going.] 

Faris. [Goes before lier.] You will not go. No, 
you will not leave here. Oh, do not, for mercy's sake 
draw the cords tighter — my heart is not proof 
against this. 

Fed, No, I will not, dear Paris. Forgive me. 
[They embrace.] It was cruel in me, to think that for- 
tune would have changed you. 

Faris. Yes, Pedestin, I forgive you. It is for you 
alone that I prize this wealth. O, hallowed be this 
hour ! 

Mrs. D. I will leave you now, my children, and 
I bless you both. [Going.] 

10 



74 PEDESTIN. 



Fed. and Paris. E"o, no, mother, you will share 
our home. 

Enter Eose and Walter Bruce, l. 

Rose, 1 understand all now, dear Walter, you- 
broke off our engagement to avenge a murdered 
sister. 

Bruce. Yes, dear Eose. 

Rose. I never will forgive myself. The men are 
not as bad as I thought they were. 

Re-enter Cute, l. 

Cute. M^vssa Mertloff has cooked his own goose — 
he's done gone, and committed susencide. 

All. Mertloff— dead? 

Cute. Yes, he's plum blowed out his brain — ' . 

Bruce. And cheated the gallows. 

Fed. Now, Cute, for your faithful services, we 
will give you your liberty. 

Cute. No, Missie Patavine, all de 'berty I wants, 
is to lib wid you and Massa Paris, all de rest ob my 
days. 

Fed. Then, Cute, you will. 

Cute. Den, I'se happy. 

Faris. Ditto I, while thou, Pedestin, art the same. 

Fed. I, too, Paris, if the audience deems me 

[worthy of the name. 

R.) Cute, Bruce, Rose, Ped, Faris, Mrs. D. (l. 



the end. 



^BRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 165 378 



